We Play Monsters
by PEANUT v1.2
Summary: While John and Dean hunt a monster together, a fifteen year old Sam tries to solve a cold case alone. When the pieces don't align, he begins to wonder at the nature of this case: What exactly are the monsters in the case: Creatures, or men? Teen!chesters
1. Chapter 1: Solo

We Play Monsters

Chapter One: Solo

Even at the young age of fifteen, Sam Winchester had been many places. He and his family drove across the country numerous times and stopped at a lot of unique, interesting places. Montana was his least favorite, by far. There were no interesting things to look at over the long drives; just long, straight stretches of road, trees (a lot of them) and mountains. It was beautiful, to be certain, but after the first six hours of it, he was already bored. The towns weren't any more interesting whenever they actually arrived at one. Because of how unpopulated the state was, it seemed pointless to investigate the state, since there were less people to be saved.

Sam didn't truly think like that; he was just frustrated with the case. His father, John Winchester was always curious about West Kootenai, Montana. For as long as he was keeping a hunting journal, he noticed disappearances in that general vicinity. They expanded over that area with West Kootenai being the center of it all. They visited there five years ago, when Sam was just ten years old, and they found nothing suspicious about the case.

But now there were three hunters in the family instead of two, and he had to try his hand at it. Sam started hunting with his dad and brother four months ago on a case with a girl and her monstrous mother. Since then, Sam became the permanent researcher of the family while his dad and Dean went out and actually killed monsters. A part of him was okay with that; he didn't want to be in danger. But he also didn't want them killing off people just because they were different. He never stopped thinking about Amy, and how even if she was cursed with being a monster, she never hurt anyone. She didn't deserve to die. And if she existed, couldn't others like her exist? What if his family got to them before Same could?

Glancing up at the clock in the silent library, Sam recalled his original purpose. _Alright, _he sighed in resignation. _Finding a pattern with all the victims in the last eleven years. That'll be easy… _He already compiled lists from other towns nearby: Midvale, Fortine, Trego, and a little family farm that they passed by on the way.

He laid them out on the library table and glanced around. It was completely empty; the librarian had gone to lunch and there were no patrons. "Okay," he mumbled aloud. "Let's see…"

He set down a picture of a young blonde, age twenty-five. Single. Chubby build. "Susan Elizabeth Jones," he said. "Went missing while climbing a nearby mountain for exercise. Claw marks on trees from a bear, but no bear was ever found." _That's not even weird in Montana. Why can't this just be a bear? _

He set down another picture. "Shane Parker. Forty-four years old. Taken from his house while his family slept. His wife says that his shotgun was gone with him, and the only reason he would have had it out was if there was a bear."

"Natalia Trvenski. Sixteen years old. Ran away from home. Her car was found at a cabin in the woods with bear claws on the car and the door of the house…."

The only thing that any of his forty-two missing person cases had in common was that there were generally signs of bears and a body was never found. There were never signs of struggle, no animal prints, no nothing. Not even a drop of blood was ever found at any of the missing sites.

He stared at the pictures for hours. He rearranged them in order of how they died. He did an age spectrum. Race. Nationality. Political parties. Occupations. Favorite kind of car. It didn't matter how he organized them; there was absolutely nothing that connected these people. The closest he got was that some enjoyed working out, but in Montana, a place that celebrated the great outdoors and being healthy enough to enjoy the fresh air, that was nothing special.

Dinner came and went. The librarian told him it was closing time, so he compiled his resources and returned to his lonely hotel room. As soon as he sat down on his bed, his cell phone rang. Dean's name appeared on the screen. "Yeah?" he said upon picking up.

"_Find anything?"_ his elder brother asked.

"No."

"_Sammy…"_ he sighed in disappointment.

"There's a reason Dad hasn't cracked this case before," Sam seethed in frustration. "There's no pattern, Dean. Nothing that connects any of these people or the kidnapping style or…whatever is making their bodies disappear."

"_I'm sure that's not true…"_

"Then you do this case and give me yours."

"_Not a chance,"_ Dean said. _"The only reason Dad and I are okay with leaving you alone hours away from us is because this is just a research case. No danger involved."_

"So you two want me to be a hunter, but you don't want me to see danger," Sam scoffed. _Yeah. Right. I'm gonna face monsters again, so I may as well get it over with. _

"_Not alone, no."_

"And besides, does that mean that I'm just wasting my time on nothing so you two have time to kill a monster without me?"

"_Sammy, I know you're frustrated, but that case you're on isn't nothing. You're still pretty new at this; it'll take some time to connect some dots."_

"I'm turning in for the night," Sam declared. "Goodnight." He pushed a red button on the phone and dropped it on the bed. He was so angry that he was afraid he'd explode at Dean. Whenever he exploded at his dad, he and John just got into a screaming match and nobody won. With Dean, they kept their voices lower and insulted each other. Sam was already feeling insulted with Dean calling him incompetent on a case that even their father couldn't solve. In his heart, Sam knew that the only reason he was stuck researching was so he'd be safe while real work was done.

He turned on the TV all night and watched terrible infomercials instead of sleeping. He was too angry to do anything but steam the night away. By the time morning light came around, though, he was getting showered and dressed to go back to the library. Whether he liked it or not, he had to do work on the case, or his dad would be pissed.

There was a case four years ago of a man's daughter being taken. That incident had briefly made the news, because this girl was going to try out for the United States Olympic Team for cycling. She probably wouldn't have been good enough to make the team anyway, so the story quickly fell into the shadows.

Sam approached the address and knocked on the door. A clean-cut man with graying hair opened it. "Yes?"

"Mr. Walton?"

"Yeah, that's me…"

"I'm sorry," the teen said. "My name's Sam. This is probably crossing a hundred lines, but I'm seeking a career as a detective and I like to practice with unsolved cases. I was wondering if I could ask you about your daughter…"

Instead of the man being offended, he looked amused. "You're already serious about a career and you're….what, thirteen?"

"Fifteen," Sam corrected. He tried not to be too bitter about it; he knew that he was pretty small for his age.

"Still, impressive. Come in," Mr. Walton said, stepping aside from the doorway. "We can talk over some sodas."

*…*…*…*…*…*

Dean Winchester was pissed, but mostly scared out of his mind. He knew he accidentally offended Sam last night on the phone, but that didn't give the kid any reason to not pick up the phone today. Sam may have been new to taking on hunts, but he knew that whenever Dean or their dad called, you picked up. No matter what feuds or problems you were having, you picked up the phone.

Sam broke that rule. Dean tried calling him three times that morning already and he hadn't picked up a single time. Maybe it just ran in the family, since John was also terrible at picking up the phone. Dean tried to call him multiple times to alert him that Sam was MIA, but John let everything go to voicemail. Whatever Dean was calling about wasn't as important as what John was working on. It was a mentality Dean was used to, but if John knew about Sam, he'd realize this was a big deal.

So, unable to get a hold of either family member, Dean hopped into his Dad's impala and started the three hour drive to West Kootenai.

Half an hour into the ride, his phone began to vibrate. He opened it and sighed when he saw the caller ID. "Sammy, why haven't you picked up the phone?" Dean barked into the receiver.

"_Sorry,"_ Sam said on the other side. _"I was interviewing somebody about a missing family member. I couldn't pick up the phone."_

"Your interview was two hours long? You sure you weren't just avoiding me?"

"I know better than that, Dean," Sam said with irritation in his voice. However, he squelched it and continued. "I was talking to him for a long time. I think I finally have something."

"What is it?"

"_I don't want to say until I know for sure. I'm walking back to the hotel now. I'm gonna piece together everything one more time."_

"How long you need until you know for sure?"

"_I don't know…A couple hours, probably. I wanna look into as many people as I can."_

"You need me there?" _I'm already on my way, so…_

"_I've got this,"_ Sam said confidently.

Dean smiled on his side of the line. "See how it's a good idea to stick with a case even when you're frustrated with it?" _You may have figured out a case that Dad couldn't, Sammy. I'm proud…_

"_Shut up,"_ Sam said, though Dean could hear that he was smiling as he said.

"Alright, get to work, Sammy. Call me in…three hours, just for me to see where you're at."

"_Okay, I will." _

Dean hung up the phone and swung back towards town. If Sammy was right, then he'd be turning around in a few hours to go wrap up the case with him. It would have been smarter for him to just keep driving to him, but he didn't want Sam getting the impression that he didn't trust him.

If he had known exactly what could go wrong in the span of three hours, he would have sped to that town faster than an Indy car. But he didn't know. None of them could have known except for Sam, who put the pieces together too late.


	2. Chapter 2: Radio Silence

Chapter Two: Radio Silence

Dean didn't just sit around and wait for Sam to call that afternoon. After he finally got a hold of his dad, the two of them went to wrap up the case. By four o'clock, all they had was a burned corpse and a monster that was still terrorizing the small city. It was 4:22 when Dean realized that it had been long past Sam's deadline. _I missed his call, _Dean sighed, rubbing his face as he sat on his hotel bed. _After I scolded him earlier for not picking up, guess I'm not much better. _He flipped the phone open and was surprised to see the default screen. No voicemails, no missed calls, no texts.

"C'mon, Sam," Dean sighed in aggravation. "I just had a talk with you earlier about picking up. Same goes for calling when you're supposed to." _Guess I'll have to hound him. Again. _He dialed Sam's number and listened to it ring. Once. Twice. Three times. It made it all the way to seven before it went to Sam's voicemail.

"_It's Sam. Leave a message._"

"Hey, Sam, remember that talk we had earlier?" Dean asked. "Pick up when I call, and call when you promise to. Just…get back to me." He pushed a button and set the phone on the bed. His first instinct was to be aggravated and annoyed because Sam was better than this, but that was the thought that also chased his anger away. Sam _was _better than that. Earlier he didn't pick up his phone for a good reason. There had to be a good reason for him not to call back or pick up the phone now.

Question was, what was his reason? Did he go out for more interviews and forget? No. Sam wouldn't forget. Did he lose track of the time? Yeah, not likely. Fall asleep? No, he was working on the case—he wouldn't just give it up to take a nap. And the battery on the phone didn't die; if it had, it would have gone straight to voicemail.

Even though he knew it wouldn't do any good, Dean called again. "Sam. What are you up to? If you don't call me back in ten minutes, I'm comin' to you. And if I get to you before you call back, you're in for a serious beat down."

He hung up. Ten minutes passed. "Alright, you asked for it, Sammy," Dean growled in annoyance and worry. For the second time that day, he stole his dad's car keys and went on a road trip. He made it all the way to West Kootenai in two and a half hours instead of three and went straight for the motel room Sam was staying in.

"Sammy," he called as he knocked on the door. No answer. He frowned and knelt down, checking if there was light seeping out underneath the door from inside. He couldn't tell. He sighed, taking out a lock pick and expertly opening the door.

Sure enough, there was a light turned on. Other than that, the place was quiet. No TV on, no radio, no nothing. "Sam," Dean called, stepping in. He did a quick sweep of the small room and bathroom. It wasn't until Dean saw Sam's cell phone sitting on the table with all his research material that his heart completely dropped. Sam didn't go anywhere without his phone, not even the bathroom.

_Sam's missing. Sammy's gone. _Dean was too panicked to feel anything but fear. This case he was studying was about people missing, and now that he was among them. "Dammit!" Dean swore, nearly smacking everything off that table in anger. But he quickly realized that would have made it completely impossible to find Sammy.

Sammy was the only person who was able to solve this case. Maybe he had done it before he was taken too. Dean stared at all the assorted pictures on the table, the groupings of them all.

In essence, there were four different groups. In the line to his left, there were ten people of varying ages, ethnicities, weight, and religion. Sam had a list of all their names and religious preferences, and political parties. There were no ties between them. Just checkmarks in the bottom right-hand corner of their photographs.

In the middle column, there were six people. Same variety in appearance, and no information linking them. These photos had question marks in the bottom corner.

The column on the right had no similarities either. "X's" were in the bottom right-hand corner.

And then there was a pile of photographs with no marks on them. Knowing Sam and his process of thinking, he took everything one photo at a time. He only worked through the photos in the first three columns before something stopped him.

Dean looked up and checked the door. No signs of forced entry. _Did you know the person at the door? _he mentally asked Sam. _Did you let someone in? Or did they come in and get to you before you could do anything? _It looked like the former, since there were literally no signs of struggle.

He picked up the phone and dialed his dad, who was aware of the situation. This time, he picked up. "Dean?"

"Yeah," he said. "Things aren't looking good here. Sam's room's empty minus his research stuff. His phone's here and so is his gun. He's got his knife though, so that's…something."

"Signs of struggle?"

"Nothing. It was easy to break into his room though. Somebody else could have surprised him and gotten him."

"No, he'd put up some fight. Keep looking there, alright?"

"Alright, what're you going to do?"

"I need to make sure the case is done here."

Dean stared at the window with shocked and hurt eyes. "Sam's been taken," he pointed out.

"We don't know that for sure. You just do your part and I'll catch a bus over there as soon as I'm done here."

"Yes sir," Dean said stiffly. He hung up the phone and stared at Sam's research materials, at a loss and afraid to touch anything. He hoped that he could figure it out, but he wasn't sure how much Sam left him to work with.

"Please, kid," he prayed. "Please have left some more detailed notes somewhere." And even if he didn't… "I'm gonna find you, Sammy. I promise."

*…*…*…*…*…*

Sam woke up lightheaded, dizzy, and coated in dust and dirt. "Ugh," he groaned, rolling over on what felt like a rock pretending to be a mattress. He opened his eyes slowly, seeing a set of iron prison bars in front of him. _Oh, great, _he thought, grasping at the single sheet that was below his body.

"Hey, you alright in there?" another voice called.

He opened his eyes completely and sat up, taking in the full view of the surrounding area. Outside of his 8x10 cell, there was another one right across from him. There was a girl. In the dim lighting from the overhead lights, he could tell that she was once beautiful. Now, with all the dirt and frizzy orange hair, she looked like she survived a tornado.

"I think I'm okay," Sam said, looking over his body to see that he hadn't suffered any injuries. He lifted a hand to his neck, feeling a scab that formed over the spot where he received an injection. "What about you?"

"As good as can be expected in this place," she snorted. "Did they just get you?"

"Whoever 'they' are…yeah." Sam tried to remember how he was taken, but his mind was still too fuzzy from whatever drug they gave him. "Who are you? How long have you been here?"

"My name is Rachel," she said. "And this is just a guess, but…it's probably been about a year. What's today's date?"

"March 14th."

"Really?" She smiled bitterly. "Yesterday was my twentieth birthday."

Sam shifted uneasily on his bed. "What's going on here? What are we doing in cells?"

Because finding answers was never easy, Sam wasn't terribly surprised when their conversation was interrupted. Down the hall, far to the right of his cell, a door opened. The sunlight that poured in illuminated the entire area, revealing a shocking sight to Sam:

There were at least ten cells in that building, and including his and Rachel's, eight of them were filled with all kinds of different people. One thing was clear, though: these were people that went missing in the case he investigated.

"Time for today's match," a stranger said as he stepped between Sam and Rachel's cells. "Rachel, your turn."

The same man turned around to look at Sam, holding a set of keys in front of him. "And since today's your first day, you get to watch, shrimp. It'll help you get a feel for what kind of place this is."

_Oh, I think I understand, _Sam thought with furrowed eyebrows. This was the conclusion that he came to: There weren't monsters involved in this case. Monster patterns were easy to find. They always chose victims for obvious reasons. With so many people missing, this case would have been an easy one if it was a monster pulling it off.

Whatever was happening here, it wasn't supernatural. It was just men. Monstrous, murderous, men.

"You _will _behave, won't ya, kiddo?" the man asked as he unlocked the cell. "You **really **don't want to get in trouble on your first day."

Sam nodded silently, making himself shrink back and be timid. His greatest weakness could also be his greatest strength in this situation: his small, unimpressive size could make him seem incompetent and too timid to accomplish anything. At the right moment, he'd strike back, set these people free, and run. First, though, he had to figure out what this place was.

Sam slowly stepped out of the cell as the man released Rachel. She automatically started walking in front of them both, curling and uncurling her hands by her sides in what appeared to be anxiety. Sam lagged behind with his captor's hand on his shoulder. He was a big man; his black jacket hardly seemed able to keep his muscular arms contained. Sam could tell just by the grip on his shoulder that if he tried to step out of line, he was in for some serious pain.

The three of them stepped outside and entered a narrow, outdoor hallway with chain-linked fences to their left and right and even above them. And then, straight ahead, Sam saw an amphitheater. The first thing that he thought of was the coliseums in Rome, where gladiators battled each other in fights to the death. The only difference was that instead of underground passages leading to the coliseum, he walked through a thin hall, walled in by the fence. The coliseum itself was ancient looking and obviously well used.

"Eyes over here, short-stuff," the man said to Sam. He glanced over towards the special seating, and he saw an empty cage. "Get in."

Sam got in without protest. It was tall enough for him to stand up in, and if he wanted to sit, he could sit with his legs up in front of him. He elected to stay standing.

"In you go, Rachel," the man said, opening the door to the arena that was enclosed by the chain-linked fence. "Pick a weapon and give us a good fight."

_Oh no, _Sam thought, paling. _This is ancient Rome in Montana. I freaking hate Montana… _This man and whoever else worked with him kidnapped people and made them fight to the death for their own entertainment. He gripped the fence, seeing Rachel grab a machete and put on a pair of gloves. She began to do stretches inside the arena, and with that routine, it was clear she did this before.

While she prepared, seats in the stands began to fill. Men who would have looked completely respectable in other circles paid a gatekeeper as they sat down in seats and spoke calmly to each other, placing bets on who would win, what kinds of injuries there would be, and who the next fight would be between. Sam glared at them in disgust, but Rachel didn't even pay attention to them.

Within twenty minutes, the seats were filled with spectators with cards and checks in front of them. For Montana being such a sparse state, it was a wonder to see at least one hundred people in the same place and for the reason of watching a murder.

"Gentlemen," his captor called to the people. He stood on a stage across the stadium, his voice naturally booming throughout the arena and the wooded area.

"Don't forget about me, Phillip!" a female voice shouted from the stands.

"My mistake," Phillip the captor chuckled. "Gentlemen and lady, today is the match that we've been waiting for. In celebration of her one year anniversary, Rachel will face off against the undefeated mother of terror: Shelia!"

Not the most terrifying name for a 100 pound wolf, but Sam couldn't deny that the female wolf that was growling away in her own personal cage in the arena made up for that with her tussled fur and unnaturally sharp teeth. For only a second, Sam was relieved that Rachel wasn't facing off against another human, but then again, this wasn't much better.

_Relax, _he told himself. Rachel was there for over a year, which meant she survived other fights. She could beat this "mother of terror." He refused to believe anything different

Another man—a younger guy by the name of Rick, stood right next to Shelia's cage. As soon as Phillip gave him the signal, he opened the wolf's cage and fled for safety outside the arena. Nobody cared about him, except for a few people who laughed in amusement. Most people were focused on Rachel and Shelia. Shelia immediately charged, leaping to tackle her prey and surely bite out Rachel's throat.

The girl was too accustomed to the fight to fall into such an easy attack. She was already ducking as the dog flew over her, and she spun around while she was crouched to face the wolf. Shelia wasn't the last bit amused that her first attack was dodged, so this time, she ran in and took several vicious bites in the direction of Rachel's leg.

Rachel pulled her leg back and kicked at the dog's throat, stunning her for just a few seconds. That was long enough for her to jump atop Shelia and wrap her own arm around her neck. She was wrestling with a wild wolf with machete in her hand. If Sam wasn't so horrified, he would have admired her strength and claimed she would be a good hunter.

The dog wiggled out of her grasp, clawing through Rachel's thigh. She cried out in pain and lost her hold. That was when Sam was sure that the match was lost. Rachel crawled backwards, away from Shelia. Judging by her wound, she couldn't stand on that leg anymore. _It's over, _Sam panicked. _An innocent girl is going to be mauled to death right in front of me and I can't do anything to save her. _He nearly closed his eyes to avoid seeing it, but right before he did, he saw something amazing.

Just as Shelia leaped to devour her, Rachel swung her machete and cut clean-through the wolf's head. The lifeless body fell onto Rachel's stomach while the head bounced off to her right.

The crowd wasn't nearly as stunned as Sam was. They cheered and hollered and claimed that they knew it all along. When Rachel stood up with relative ease, Sam understood: she purposely got wounded and acted like the pain was terrible. She tricked the wolf into thinking the battle was over and then made her move.

Still, it _was _a nasty wound.

"Tomorrow's your day, squirt," Phillip said to Sam Winchester. "If you do half as well as her, you'll make it out alive." Phillip opened up Sam's cage before ordering him out and leading him back to his cell.

That night, Rachel didn't come back until it was long past dark. Everyone else was asleep, but Sam stayed up out of both fear and worry. He waited until the guards were out to ask her the question that was on his mind for the past six hours. "Are you alright?"

"Shelia managed to cut pretty deep," Rachel confessed. "But don't worry, I got medical treatment."

"Seriously?" Sam scoffed. They pit people against animals, but treated them when they were wounded?

"I'm one of their favorites," Rachel said. "At least, I was, before today. I always put up good fights. Reused some tactics here and there, but they were okay with it. But I think I took it too far today." Over in her cell, Rachel shivered. "Once I'm good enough to fight again, I'm going to seriously pay for that…"

"Hey, quiet down over there!" one of the other captives scolded.

"Hey, shut up," Sam retorted.

"No, Sam, he's right," Rachel said. "You should be getting some rest. Tomorrow's your day, right?"

"Yeah…"

"Then sleep," she encouraged. "And let me give you one more piece of advice: Don't care about the other people here. Don't care about the lives of others at all. It'll only get you killed."

Sam heard that talk from Dean numerous times already. Be well rested and don't have such a bleeding heart. Caring for the people that they try to save is risky business because losing people happens fairly often. Though he disagreed, he let the subject drop. He laid down in bed and shut his eyes.

Right. Tomorrow was his day.

*…*…*…*…*…*

**Author: Sorry the chapter took so long to come; I was just irritated with it for a while because it didn't turn out the way that I wanted it to. But after settling on it for a while, it's better than I originally thought. Good enough for publication, anyway. **

**As for the next chapter, I don't know when it'll come. Hopefully sooner rather than later, but my schedule is very limited. Plus, my focus is on another Supernatural story right now—"Our Solemn Hour." Go ahead and check that one out too if you like my stuff. AND if you have a request for a story or what the next chapter should look like for this one, message me or drop a comment. This story is pretty open at the moment!**

**Peanut**


	3. Chapter 3: Humanity

Chapter Three: Humanity

After the guards brought in breakfast the next morning, Rachel told him more about the arena. It had been running for a long time—twenty years at least. They staked out that particular forest and they would kidnap people who came within their sights. Sometimes that was immediate, and sometimes it was weeks after. She said it didn't matter how old, young, tall, short, or heavy a person was; the practitioners of the arena had a use for everyone.

Rachel did have to admit, however, that Sam was the youngest person to come since she was there. When he asked why, she frowned and said that they probably wanted an easy fight. Sometimes they picked up the old, sickly, or even crippled and threw them into the arena so their animals would have a good meal. Besides, the crowd loved a good mauling.

Sam had already surmised as much. Right before he was kidnapped, he was working on labeling all the people who had been in those woods. That was the commonality he was looking for all along. The locations of the actual kidnappings was what threw him (and the police) off the trail. He was glad to know the truth, but he needed to find a way out to tell Dean, his dad, and the police.

Dean. He wondered how worried he was. Sam missed calling him and his cell phone was back in his hotel room. He had no way of contacting him unless he found a cell phone to steal.

_No, that doesn't matter either, _he thought in frustration. There was no way there was a signal this far in the middle of nowhere. That left him with only one option: he had to escape. He had to survive whatever his fight was, figure out _where _he was, and make a break for the nearest town.

"I'm assuming people have tried to escape before," Sam said to the girl in the cell across from him.

Rachel sat in the sunshine that poured in through her cell's barred window and nodded. "One, since I've been here. He won his fight and they were about to escort him back to his cell, but he kept his weapon and ran for the door. At least ten people drew their guns to shoot him down, from what I hear."

"Ten people?"

"Everyone in Montana carries a gun with them. You must be from out of state, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "My dad travels a lot for business. We were in the area…"

"Does your dad know you're gone?"

"It might have taken him a few days to realize," Sam confessed. "But my brother, Dean. He definitely knows."

"I'd say I hope you get back to them safely, but I'm sorry, Sam—it's not going to happen. Nobody ever makes it out of here alive."

"You don't know my family," Sam said with confidence. "They'll find me and they'll stop this. I promise, both of us are going to get out of here."

"Yeah, that'll be the day!" another captive shouted from down the hall. Others snickered and mocked him, but Sam just stared up at the ceiling and let the sounds settle around him. They didn't know any better. They didn't know what his family was capable of. He was confident Dean was just hours behind and deciphering the notes he left at that moment.

Soon, he would be there to save him. Maybe even before his fight tonight.

*…*…*…*…*…*

Dean sat in Sammy's hotel room with an uneaten burger, a bottle of water, and a cell phone that he was holding to his ear. He had been awake for the past six hours despite the fact that it was only 8:00 in the morning. He managed to get a few hours of rest, but he couldn't sleep peacefully while Sam was missing.

"Bobby, I really need your help on this one," Dean was saying into the receiver. Considering John was working the case that apparently wasn't so easy to close, Bobby was the only person who could help him with this cold case.

"_Boy, I don't know what else you want me to say,"_ Bobby said. _"Rufus and I tried that case a while back too and we didn't find squat."_

"Just give me whatever details you have on these people," Dean said. He pulled up the pile with "x" on them, hoping that group would have the most obvious connections. He read off all the names at once, but then Bobby scolded him for giving him no time to look through his archives. He impatiently waited and then started again. On the other side of the line, Dean could hear Bobby flipping through folders, pulling out the right ones and opening them up. He had no clue how Bobby organized his words, but he assumed that the basics of each person were on a sheet in the front of the folders. Bobby used his weekends very productively.

"_I'm looking over the basics now," _Bobby told him after a minute or two of shuffling and silent reading. "_But I'm not seeing a single thing that connects these victims more than anything."_

"C'mon, Bobby…"

"_Don't use that tone with me, Dean. I'm worried too but getting snappy isn't gonna help anything."_

Dean lifted a hand to his face, rubbing over it. He felt like an old man, aged with worry and stress. "Sorry," he said quietly. At least Bobby was trying to help him, unlike John, who was too obsessed with his current case to care about Sam. Of course, Dean knew that John cared deeply for Sam, but his priorities were off this time and that ticked him off.

"_We __**will **__find him, Dean. And until we do, Sam's a strong kid. I'm sure even now he's tryin' to find a way back."_

"I'm sure he is," Dean agreed. "But still, let's make it to him first and kill these S.O.B.s for taking him the first place."

*…*…*…*…*…*

Dean didn't make it before the fight. Sam was holding out hope that as he walked into the arena, Dean would be there in the audience, waiting until he could see him before starting the rescue mission. It would have been ideal, since then Sam could grab a bunch of weapons from inside the arena and put up a fight. He had a knife tucked in his shoe, but that wasn't going to help him any when everyone had guns.

It didn't matter. Dean wasn't in the crowd. It was just the spectators who had been there last night to see Rachel's fight.

"In you go, shrimp," Phillip said as he shoved Sam inside. He shut the gate behind him and went to his stand. Sam was much more focused on the weapon rack. It had a variety of weapons: a machete, a sword, a broadsword, an axe, a spear, and even a set of nun chucks. He hoped nobody was stupid enough to use those against a wolf.

Sam eyed the wolf in the cage across the way. It was much larger than Sheila was yesterday, and already more riled up. It barred its teeth and growled loudly, obviously struggling with being contained. He wanted his dinner and he wanted it _now. _Sam recalled the information Rachel shared with him and was able to piece things together quickly enough: The reason he was kidnapped wasn't because he was going to put up a good fight. He was just an easy meal.

"Gentlemen and lady," Phillip's voice boomed through a megaphone. "Welcome to the final match of the week." As soon as he said "match," members of the audience began to laugh. So, even they were aware of the nature of the fight. "Today, we have our youngest competitor yet. Give Sam some applause!"

Sam received whooping and hollering from the crowd. Not a single person there was silently appalled by the situation. Instead, they were cheering for him. They were cheering that he was a small body that was going to be ripped to shreds by a savage animal. If he was Dean, he would have given them all the middle finger. Instead, he looked over at Phillip and stared at him.

"And for Sammy's opponent, give it up for the leader of the pack: Alpha!"

Everyone cheered even more loudly for the wolf. They stomped their feet against the coliseum floors, screamed their lungs out, and rose to their feet and clapped for the Alpha. That only got him even more tense and ready to pounce.

"Sam, choose your weapon," Phillip said.

Sam looked at the rack. He saw how Rachel used the machete yesterday and he knew some tactics he could borrow from her, but that wasn't his best option. For one, he didn't want anyone being mad at him for an uncreative fight or at Rachel for inspiring him. Besides, machetes weren't his weapon of choice.

Sam reached for the axe and checked to make sure the head was absolutely attached to the stick. He used the axe before on what limited hunting trips he participated in; the axe was his best bet today.

"Interesting choice," Phillip commented. "Greg, are you ready to release the alpha?"

"Ready, boss!" another man called from outside the cage. He held onto a rope, read to yank it and draw Alpha's door open in an instant.

"Good luck to both parties," Phillip said, encouraging more laughter from the crowd. "In three…two…one…GO!"

The door opened and Alpha sprinted out. The first thing Sam did was roll out of the way. He thought maybe the wolf's weight would slow it down, but if anything, Alpha was faster than Sheila. Sam fought monsters before. Monsters were fast and tricky. But like animals, they had basic movements that you could predict and counter.

_I can do this. I __**have **__to do this. _

He stood himself up straight as the wolf spun around to face him. When the wolf jumped at him and he lifted the weapon up in front of him. The wolf bit right into the wooden handle. He kept snapping away at Sam even with the poll in his mouth. Sam furrowed his eyebrows and pulled the wolf closer before twisting the handle and thus forcing the wolf to land on its side. He lifted his left foot and stomped on the wolf's thick neck.

His foot bounced off the neck without doing much damage. Sam quickly pulled his foot back and kicked it in the stomach twice. When the wolf rose again, he did so more sluggishly. But as soon as Sam saw its eyes, he knew that it was even more angry than it originally had been.

The wolf charged at him again, and Sam stood there. There wasn't enough time to dodge and even if there was, he couldn't do it forever. Just as the wolf leapt at him, Sam saw his moment of opportunity. Since the wolf was fully in the air, it didn't have any chance of maneuvering itself away from the swinging axe that went straight for its hind leg.

There was a sickening noise when the blade completely sank into the meat of the dog's calf. The alpha toppled to the ground, too shocked and pained to move. When it tried to rise after a few seconds, it realized its last leg was completely done for. No chance for recovery.

Sam knew what he had to do. He knew that he had to cut that animal down so that he could walk out of this arena. It was him or the wolf. The 15 year old grit his teeth, tightening his hold on the axe that dripped with blood. His compassionate heart started feeding him thoughts that he couldn't stop or ignore. It wasn't the wolf's fault things were like this. He was probably kidnapped and forced into this. If he didn't kill, he didn't eat. Or he was raised in this environment and didn't know any better. Either way, it didn't deserve to die.

"Do it!" someone in the crowd finally hollered. Sam looked up to try and find the source, eyes wide behind his bangs. He had completely forgotten that he was being watched; the crowd had been so silent moments ago when they saw Sam actually put up a fight. Did they want him to win? If he did this, would he survive longer?

Maybe, but it would cost him some of his humanity.

_I'm a hunter, _he thought dryly. _My humanity's going to be sucked away eventually, just like Dad. _

But for now, he was still human enough. He readjusted his hold on the axe and gripped it tightly. With a scream, he raised the sword and swung it.

*…*…*…*…*…*

**Author: Finally, an update! So sorry it took so long; life is crazy. But I'm happy with how this chapter turned out. Thanks to Kas3y for pointing out the rating; this should have been a "T" from the start, so not sure how the "K+" happened. **

**For this next chapter, I really want to hear some opinions. I have a few scenarios in mind and can't decide on which one to follow. So YOU guys as the readers will choose. In your review, tell me your choice: A or B**

**A. The ring masters are seriously impressed with Sam and his fighting skill. They decide to pit him against an even worse animal to see how he fairs. However, Sam is always a strategist and uses his fight with that animal to help him stage an escape. **

**OR**

**B. The ring masters are impressed with Sam and see an opportunity with him. They pit him against another prisoner who they want out of their ring. Sam must decide what lengths he will go to in order to survive: Killing animals is one thing, but is he willing to kill a human being?**

**Please leave some reviews for me, and if you have time, check out my other Supernatural story "Our Solemn Hour." **

**Peanut**


	4. Chapter 4: Facade

Chapter Four: Façade

Day four. Dean was still in Sam's hotel room doing research. John was finishing up a case elsewhere. He checked in every mealtime, but there were never any updates. Dean was working with Bobby full time now to try and figure things out. This wasn't just any case they could leave on the shelf anymore. They _had _to find Sammy.

Bobby gave him basic details on all forty-five people, but there wasn't a single unifying factor. Obviously everyone went missing in Montana, but even the specific locations were different. Some went missing in town, some out of town, some at gas stations in the middle of nowhere—There was nothing solid enough to connect anyone.

"That's it, Bobby," Dean sighed into the phone. "That's everyone I have."

"_Are you sure?_" Bobby asked on the other end. _"I got records for one more person in my files._"

"Let me check quick." He set down the phone and fingered through the photographs again. As much as possible, he kept Sam's organization exactly the way that it had been. Photos were in the same lines as before and in the same order. It was possible that one of them got stuck to another one, though. After thumbing through them all again, Dean didn't see anything. "That's all I have," he repeated.

"_I got a girl named Erin Walton. Olympic hopeful, apparently. Nothin' too noteworthy except that her dad Phillip Walton still lives in town."_

That got Dean's attention. "You think he's the one Sam went and interviewed?" he thought as he leaned forward on his chair.

"_Well, you already checked with the Mann family in town and they said they didn't see Sam…."_

By that point, Dean was hardly even listening to the response. He shoved his room key into his pocket and hid a gun underneath his shirt. If Sam did interview Phillip Walton about his daughter, then he must have had a card for Erin. It's possible Sam had the card on him—No, that wasn't likely. Sam had everyone organized right in front of him. Erin's picture should have been front and center since she was just looked into.

Sam came out of that interview with a breakthrough in the case. He needed to go talk to Walton and see what set Sam over the edge.

Dean kept thinking through the possibilities as he stood outside the small home of Phillip Walton. It looked ordinary enough, but they always did. Smooth landscaping, a clean house, neighbors—

"Well, this is rare," a woman's voice said from the next lawn over. He snapped his head over and spotted an elderly woman snipping one of her own hedges. "Are you here to see Mr. Walton too?"

"Yes ma'am," Dean said simply. If she started the conversation with him, she must have been pretty chatty. If he just waited long enough, she'd keep going.

"Mr. Walton rarely gets any visitors. He's a very private man—has been ever since he moved in six years ago. But on Friday, another young man came to see him too."

"What did he look like?" Dean asked as his heart pounded heavily.

"Well, he was a short little thing. Thirteen years old, if I had to guess. Brown hair, green jacket…"

_Sam. That was _definitely _Sam. _He wanted to ask her a few more questions, but he was suddenly aware that he was still standing outside Walton's door and that Phillip could come at any time. If Walton was watching, he was probably wondering what they were talking about.

"You boys are lucky you've caught him," the woman continued. "Mr. Walton goes away every weekend. He has some cabin in the woods somewhere. Must be nice for him to leave for every-"

At that moment, the front door opened. Dean had looked up Phillip Walton online just to know what he looked like, and he knew for a fact that the man in front of him really was the guy he was looking for.

"Oh, hello Mr. Walton," the elderly woman greeted.

"Good afternoon," he greeted in response, nodding to both the people in front of him. He looked at Dean with a confused expression, but he wasn't cold. "How can I help you?" he asked Dean.

"I'm looking for a missing person," Dean replied. "I've got a picture right here." He pulled out his wallet and unfolded the picture of Sam, holding it up for the man as he continued speaking. "He's on the scrawny side, and his hair's gotten a little longer since this picture was taken. Have you seen him?"

Once more, the old woman butted in, even if she hadn't seen the picture. "Is that the young man that visited you the other day? I hope he's alright…"

Phillip cast the woman a look that Dean couldn't describe. He began to put the photo back in his wallet, realizing that he hadn't gotten a response. It took just a second for Phillip to step aside and motion to the rest of his house.

"Please, come in," he said.

*…*…*…*…*…*

Sam was shocked that three days passed and he was still locked in a cage. By now, he was sure that both Dean and his dad knew that he was missing. They should have been here by now; they should have followed all of his notes and found out what was happening. He labeled the people who he knew went hiking in the woods a few days before their kidnappings and narrowed down the area that people were being watched in. He left it marked on a huge map right on the desk! Along with that and the people, how couldn't Dean and his dad follow him here?

_Unless, _Sam suddenly realized, _they messed with my research. What if they took everything away? What if Dean and Dad have nothing to follow at all? _

Sam fought the urge to groan. That's probably what happened. And if that was the case, there was no way Dean and Dad would piece things together fast enough to save them all?

Or there was another thing to worry about. What if Dean followed the clues like he did and wound up in the cell next to him? If he talked to Phillip Walton—

Phillip. Sam couldn't believe what a fraud he was. He had thought he was a genuine, open man who wanted the mystery of his daughter solved so much he was willing to open up to a hopeful future journalist. It was Phillip's interview that gave Sam the last few details he needed to piece together that all the victims hiked within the scouting radius of the arena. He was so relieved when he got back to the hotel room and the pieces began to align. And before that, Dean called him. Dean wasn't too straightforward with his emotions, but Sam knew his brother's tone. Dean was proud of him for starting to piece things together.

So, Sam worked that much harder to line things up so that he'd have a definite conclusion when he called Dean back that afternoon. He was interrupted by a knock on the hotel room. Naturally he grabbed his gun and prepared to defend himself, but he was relieved to see that it was only Mr. Walton. Sam figured that Phillip just remembered something significant about his daughter that he wanted to share with him or something along those lines.

Sam put his gun away safely and then opened the hotel room and spoke to Phillip in the doorway. He wasn't going to let anyone in to see all of his hard work; they'd probably start to freak out and realize that he wasn't just an aspiring journalist or detective. The last thing he remembered was some fabric being put over his mouth. He struggled and reached for some kind of weapon, but the closest one he had was a knife tucked away in his shoe. It didn't matter. Whatever was soaked in that cloth knocked him out, and the next thing he knew, he was in a cell.

_Dean, _he silently willed, _you gotta be smarter than me. You need to see through him, or you'll end up just like me._

*…*…*…*….*…*

Dean accepted Phillip's tea, but he didn't bother sipping any of it. He lifted it to his lips, tilted it, and then sat it down on the coffee table.

"I'm so sorry about Mrs. Schultz," Phillip said as he sat down in an easy chair across from Dean. "She's very lonely. She'll talk off anybody's ear as long as you give her a chance."

"It's no biggie," Dean said casually, though his posture was anything but. He leaned forward on his seat, clasping his hands in front of him as he got straight to business. "Have you seen the kid?"

Phillip nodded as he set down his own beverage. "He was here for a few hours on…what day was it…Thursday? Friday? He was asking me questions about my daughter."

"Hopefully he didn't step over any lines or anything."

"Oh no," the man said quickly. "He was very polite. It was a nice conversation. I'm just sorry that he's missing now. I haven't seen him since he left that afternoon and headed back to…well, wherever he was staying. Are you two from out of town?"

"Yeah, on a trip with family across the country. Everyone's real worried about Sam…are you sure you haven't seen him since?"

"I'm positive," he nodded. "Sorry."

"That's alright." Dean leaned back and settled into the couch, feeling the gun against his side. "Why don't you tell me a little bit of what you guys talked about? It may give me a lead on the kid."

Phillip began talking about his daughter. How she was always great at track and how she trained since she was ten years old to be in the Olympics. He rattled off a few meaningless stories that were surely meant to be sentimental. Dean wasn't paying attention to the stories themselves. Even if Sam did get something out of the stories to help him solve the case, Dean didn't think he was smart enough to make the same connections.

No, this was a test. That whole time with Phillip being long winded and Dean inserting questions here and there, he was watching for any signs of distress or lying. Even though he wasn't in the hunting game nearly as long as his dad, Dean knew the signs of a liar. Sweating. Drinking water whenever he had a chance so he could hide behind the glass. Upward glances that he wanted Dean to think were just him reminiscing about his daughter.

At the end of it, Dean wasn't sure what to do. Confront Phillip and force him to break through what was likely a façade, or risk attacking a man who still had a slight chance of being innocent. He had a lot of things against him: He was the last person to see Sam, the picture of his daughter was missing, and he was showing a few signs of nerves. But those were pretty frail things to hold against him…

"Thanks for talking to me," Dean eventually said, rising to his feet. Phillip rose as well, his posture relaxing only a fraction. "I think knowing all that'll help me a lot."

"Of course," the man nodded. "Let me know if you find him."

Dean agreed, and then he turned around and left. It had been about an hour since he first stepped inside Walton's house, but the old woman was still outside, trimming her bushes. That was more than Dean could have hoped for. He nodded to her and then started walking off, making it a point to follow that road and then turn so that it looked like he truly left and wasn't coming back.

He may not have attacked Walton right then and there, but he read him well enough to know that if he was guilty, he wasn't going to react well to Dean saying that their talk really helped him get a sense of where Sam was. Walking through a back alley, Dean made his way back to the house. The kitchen and kitchen door were in the back of the house, away from listening ears. He knelt down outside the open window and overheard Phillip on the phone.

"I didn't think anyone would miss him," Phillip was in the middle of saying. "He was just some kid from out of town staying alone in a crummy motel. How was I supposed to know he had family in the area?"

Phillip was pacing. He wasn't looking near the door or window; he kept looking up, as if praying to God that he could take this all back to spare himself the stress.

"I'm hopping on a plane and going to Maine," Phillip declared. "I quit, you hear me? I'm out."

Talking on the other end.

"Just kill the kid and have his body turn up at the edge of the woods. That's how you cleaned up the mess ten years ago."

Dean felt his blood pressure rise immediately. Phillip did _not _just order people to kill his little brother. He rose to his feet and silently began to lift the screen while Phillip had his back to him.

"Not my problem." He hung up his phone and placed it on the kitchen counter. Then he lifted his hand, running it over his haggard face.

"Excuse me," Dean said lowly.

Phillip jumped, spinning around only to find a gun three feet away from him and aiming right in the middle of his face. He looked pasted it, seeing the dark and deadly expression that Dean Winchester wore.

"What did you just tell them to do to my brother?" Dean growled.

Phillip knew that he was busted, and that he would never convince Dean he wasn't a part of the missing persons case. He opened his mouth to scream only to have the barrel inserted right in.

"You and I," Dean said darkly, "are going to have a talk."

*…*…*…*…*…*

**Welp, that seems like a good spot to end this week. **** I know with the last chapter I had you choose between two options, and neither of them appeared in this one. I wasn't expecting this chapter to turn out so Dean-centric, but it definitely turned out better this way. Next chapter, you'll see what I decided to do with your votes last time. **

**As always, drop a review, check out my other stories, et cetera, et cetera. **

**Peanut**


	5. Chapter 5: The Monsters

Chapter Five: The Monsters

When the back door to the prison building opened, everyone was surprised. It was their day off, so nobody should have been retrieving them for fights. On days like this, there were only two men in the area: two men by the names of Riley and Igor. They dropped meals in every person's cell, gave them rations of water, and then they left. Where they went, Sam didn't know. Nor did he care. All that he knew was that they already got their meals that morning and nobody should have been coming in to see them now.

Sam sat up on the bed, watching the two burly men walk down the hall. Igor, with his dark black hair, thick eyebrows, and stern expression, led the way. Riley—smaller but still muscular—trailed behind. Neither of them held anything in their hands, so they weren't here to provide food or medicine. Which cell were they going to stop at?

_Oh. _

They stopped at his.

"C'mon out, short stuff," Igor ordered. His large hand grasped for the key at his belt, and he easily lifted it and unlocked the cell door. Though Sam knew being singled out wasn't a good thing, he knew that if he didn't willingly walk out, they'd drag him.

He casually reached under his pillow, pulling out the knife that he secretly had on him from the start. Judging by the dark stares, he thought he might need the knife. He tucked it up the sleeve of his long-sleeve shirt and kept it from falling by closing his hand below into a tight fist.

"What do you want with him?" Rachel dared to ask while Sam stood up and walked the short distance to the door.

"Shut up," Riley sneered. He grasped Sam by the shirt, yanking him out of the cell and pushing him in front of him. "Walk," he ordered Sam. Sam obeyed. Igor stayed in front, walking towards the opposite exit that led to the arena.

Sam knew that if he ever wanted to escape, this was the time. Only two guys were here. He had an open shot to Igor's back; all he had to do was swing his arm, extend the knife, and stab. It would only down a muscular man like that, not kill him. And then he would duck Riley's attack and somehow knock him out. His father was in the Marines, and they knew something about fighting against impossible odds. John taught Sam that even if he wasn't the same girth as the monsters they faced, his small size could actually be used as an advantage. Nobody ever thought the small ones were a danger, and that was a fatal mistake when it came to Sam.

But Sam wasn't his father. He had a hard time killing monsters because a part of them was a living being. Somehow, he felt connected to them. Of course he never told his dad or Dean; it was nonsensical and irrational. Sam even felt a connection to these human monsters because they all were human.

Igor opened the door and walked before them. Riley shut the door to the cell building and walked close behind, silently ushering him forward. Even if Sam did attack Igor, he didn't think he could be fast enough to take out Riley before he was on top of him. The knife tickled against his skin, making him feel uneasy. He was thinking of seriously injuring people. That was unlike him and went against every fiber of his being. But people like Rachel were trapped in there, waiting to be saved. It was always the Winchester's job to save people, no matter what personal cost they had to pay.

He wondered: could he really pay for their freedom by sacrificing his own humanity? Could he really kill another human being?

He spent too much time thinking about it. They led him right into the arena, ten feet away from the weapons rack. Too far for him to move quickly enough to avoid the weapon that Riley pulled out: A revolver

"Sam, was it?" Riley asked as he calmly held the gun by his side. "Hate to say this, but you're causing us trouble. You're missed out there, little buddy."

_Dean. Dad. _At that point, he was just relieved they were on him at all. He knew that every day, it became harder to find a missing person. Considering how many people, police, and detectives tried to find this operation, it was a miracle it only took four days for the Winchesters to start tracking him down.

"Phillip wants you dead. Personally, I hate to do it. You've been a good fighter in there, little guy. A fate like this just aint fair."

Sam was hardly listening. Dean and Dad were on their way to save him. He just needed to give them a little bit more time and they'd be there.

He had to live. Just a little bit longer. No matter what the cost…

Riley began to lift his gun in slow motion. Either that, or Sam's heightened senses and adrenaline make it look like that. It gave him just enough time for his reflexes to kick in. He released his fist and felt the knife slip sown into his hand. His fingers tightened around the handle with care. His arm flew back and then swung forward. He released the knife and…

_Stab. _

The knife pierced Riley's gun hand. The gun discharged while it was still low to the ground, but it was high enough to impact Sam. Sam also released a cry of pain, feeling the pullet hit his left calf. It would have been even more painful if he wasn't so full of adrenaline.

His body was reminding him that he had a greater purpose than to give in to the pain.

The gun began to drop towards the ground, where it landed in the dust and created a small cloud around it. He dove towards it, briefly squeezing his eyes shut to avoid being blinded. If he wasn't quick enough, Igor would surely reach for whatever weapon he had and finish the job. He couldn't let that happen. He _had _to live.

Sam aimed the gun upward and pulled the trigger back. It hit Igor's large bicep and didn't stop him from raising his gun. _Crap. Crap! _Sam shot off another bullet and watched it imbed itself in Igor's wrist. To his great relief, Igor dropped his gun into the dust.

The two were disarmed. Sam held a gun in his hand, but it probably only had about three bullets left. He knew what he **wasn't **going to use them for. He wasn't going to kill anybody today. "Back up," Sam ordered as he rose to his feet. He grasped the gun with both hands, hiding the tremble that came from both pain and fear. "Back up!"

They did as Sam instructed and walked back. The spare gun was left on the ground unattended. He knelt down and picked it up, stuffing it into his belt. "Toss me the keys," he said to Igor.

The giant reached back and grasped them, tossing them so that they would hit Sam in the face. All he did was keep his guns level and take a step back. He was smarter than they ever imagined he would be. There were some days he doubted it, but deep down, Sam was a Winchester. Winchesters knew how to survive.

He picked up the keys and backed up slowly, keeping the gun raised. "Stay right there," he demanded. He wasn't going to kill them; he'd leave them trapped in the cage. Everyone would find them tomorrow and give them medical attention. His thoughts screamed in elation. _I beat the system! I didn't have to sacrifice my humanity to survive! _

Sam backed up through the door and then closed it, locking the two men in. His leg ached like nothing else, but it didn't matter. He went into the prison cells and released every single person in there. The people that once scolded him for talking too much to Rachel cheered him on and said he wasn't such a bad kid after all. Rachel exited her cell and gave him a kiss on the cheek before noticing his leg. When she opened her mouth to ask if he was okay, he simply shook his head at her. The wound didn't matter.

"C'mon," he told them all. "We're running out of here."

"Yeah, but which way?"

"Where are we even?"

"Where's the nearest town?"

"Does anybody know if the have water bottles or provisions? We don't' know how long it'll take."

"What about a medicine kit?" Rachel said in the midst of the chaos. Every person was talking over each other, just stating their own questions and not listening to any replies. "He's injured."

"We should go north. Canada's border can't be too far, right? Let's try to find a watchman there."

"No, that's stupid! We need to try and find a town. Let's go south!"

Nobody could agree with each other. Sam tried lifting his voice and offering his two cents, but everyone was too confused at the sudden freedom. Rachel at least was kneeling down and wrapping a pillow case around his leg to keep him from bleeding any further.

"Screw this!" a large white man shouted. "I'm going. If anybody wants in, come with me!"

A few did. Three of them went towards the exit together. Another band formed and headed out as well, though they made it clear they were going north. The remaining ones shrugged and rushed out to try and catch up with the others. Sam, Rachel, and another man by the name of Cyan were left behind.

Cyan was the man who originally yelled at Sam the most. He didn't like Sam asking so many questions, and he didn't like Sam trying to talk when he was trying to sleep, even if it was just a whisper. Now, though, things were different.

"You're responsible for getting us out of this," Cyan said to Sam in the upmost respect. "Which way do you think we should go?"

Which way indeed. Sam was unconscious the whole way there, so he had no clue if they were north of the town, south, or whatever. His dad didn't train him how to find a way back to a town from hundreds of miles out, because for once, this situation was too strange to prepare for.

"I say we find higher ground," Sam finally decided. "Find a hill, climb a tree, and scope things out. That's our best bet."

"I agree," Rachel said.

Cyan nodded. "Alright. Let's get outta here."

*…*…*…*…*…*

In a completely different area, Dean splashed water on the face of Phillip Walton. A small part of him felt pleasure at watching the man jump up at the frigid water. The feeling rose as Phillip looked down and realized the situation he was in.

After he shoved the gun in Walton's mouth, he knocked up out with a swift hit to the head. While he was knocked out, Dean dragged Walton's body to the basement and tied him to an old wooden chair. Not only was Walton bound by a tight rope around his chest, but his hands and ankles were duct-taped to the chair's arms and legs. There was no way that he was going to get out of there unless Dean gave the okay.

"Morning, Sunshine," Dean said. He set the glass down on a nearby table, only glancing away from Phillip briefly while he did so. He was going to let Phillip take a few moments to realize that he had 0 chance of escape. That'd make him for talkative.

"What's going on?" Phillip asked in panic.

"Don't play dumb," Dean responded calmly. "It's not gonna work with me. I heard you on the phone, talkin' bout me looking for my brother."

"I'm not playing dumb! I have no clue what you're talking about…"

"Alright, then how 'bout this?" Dean grabbed a photograph off the table, holding it between two fingers as he dangled in front of Phillip's face. "I found this while you were taking a nap."

"That's my daughter…"

"Yeah, and that was Sam's photo." He flipped it around, showing Sam's handwriting on the back. All it said was the girl's name, but it was enough. "I know my brother's handwriting anywhere. So…" He flicked the photo aside, leaning in close to Walton's face. "I recommend you don't try to screw with me. I know you had something to do with my brother's disappearance. I know that you just told some lowlifes to get rid of him."

"I don't—"

"You're gonna tell me where he is," Dean declared. "And you're not going to waste my time with it."

Phillip pondered his options. A normal person would have screamed out and hoped that the neighbors could hear him, but that wasn't a possibility for him. Due to some habits of his past, the basement was soundproof. Noise from inside wouldn't get out. He could try to break the chair and use it as a weapon, but even then, he doubted he was a match for Dean. If he played dumb, Dean would have to leave him alone. Or he could call out a bluff.

Yeah, that was his best bet.

He washed any doubt off his face, wearing an expression of arrogant security. "You can't do anything to me," he declared. "I'm the only one who knows where Sam is. You kill me and you lose that."

Dean didn't look the least bit phased, because he wasn't. He was just glad Phillip decided to stop playing dumb. Now that they were past that phase, Dean could move on. "I wouldn't say that," Dean disagreed casually. He reached for his knife on the table. He used it to slay dozens of monsters before; what was one more? This time, though, he was going to take his sweet time.

Adjusting his grip on the handle, Dean stepped forward and lifted it up. With one swift motion, he trust the blade down into Phillip's leg, right above the kneecap. The scream that left Walton's mouth sounded inhuman.

"I don't think you need your kneecap to talk, do you?" Dean asked darkly. He kept it wedged in there, his hand on the top of it to add just a little extra weight and wiggle. He moved it, hearing Phillip sobbing in pain. Whatever resolve he had was now long gone. "You're gonna tell me where Sam is or I swear I'm gonna pop your knee off. And then I'll go for the other one. Then the ankles, wrists, elbows—whatever I have to do to get you to talk, do you understand me?"

"You'll-you'll kill me…" Phillip declared.

"No," Dean said. "I was trained by the best." His father, a military man, knew plenty of ways to make people suffer without actually taking their life. Even if the boys primarily hunted monsters, their dad knew that someday, they'd face humans who were even worse than the supernatural. He trained them to defend themselves, to severely injure their attackers, and to kill them. All that Dean could do was hope that Sam took those lessons in and that he would do whatever he needed to do in order to live. Even kill. "Where's Sam?"

Phillip began to curse under his breath. Every expletive under the sun came pouring out. "I don't have time for this," Dean muttered. He pulled the knife towards him just a fraction of an inch to get it moving faster.

"No! No please!" Phillip cried. "I'll talk. I'll talk." He swallowed back the pain and spilled everything that Dean could ever hope for. "I host a ring of fighters every weekend. I help scout out people we send to the ring to fight."

"Fight _what_?"

"Animals, mostly. Wolves, bears, snakes—anything we can find. Sometimes each other."

"And that's where Sam is?" Dean's worry grew with every word Phillip spoke, but he only let his rage shine through. Phillip nodded vigorously, obviously hoping to avoid having his kneecap pulled off.

"How big's this thing?"

"Uh…'bout….fifteen people we have there. A hundred come to watch fights…"

"When's the next fight?" Dean demanded.

"Tomorrow…Tomorrow…"

The rest didn't really matter. Sammy was locked up some place and thanks to Phillip, two guys were gonna try and kill him. Actually, they were probably in the middle of it while Dean was doing his interrogation. He wasn't stupid enough to think that having Phillip call them back and rescind the order would change anything; if they heard back from him so quickly, they'd have to assume Phillip was talking under duress and that the order still stood.

All Dean could do for that current moment was pray that Sam would fight for all he was worth. Just long enough for Dean and their dad to get to him before the fight tomorrow.

Dean stood up from the seat and took another artifact off the table. He found this while he was looking though the house. It was located right next to Phillip's daughter's photo. It was a map of Montana with a large area circled in red. No other explanation. Even if it didn't have many markings on it, Dean was smart enough to know that it was Sam's map, and that Sam narrowed down the area.

"Give me the coordinates," Dean said, holding the map up so only he could see. "I'll know if you're lying."

Phillip sputtered out some numbers and pleaded for his life and his knee in every breath that followed. Dean took a few moments, looking over the map. True enough, the coordinates fit into the area that Sam originally marked.

"….So you can just go and see that it checks out," Phillip was saying. "You can leave me here and come back if it turns out I was lying."

"I wouldn't worry 'bout that." Dean set down the map and exchanged it for his silenced gun. He lifted and shot a hole in the center of Phillip's head. The man's body fell backwards, taking the wooden chair with it. They topped to the ground in a broken thud.

Dean walked over the few steps, avoiding the blood as he yanked the knife out of Walton's knee. He wiped it clean on Walton's clothes as he spoke one last comment into the monster's ear.

"I believe you."

Now it was just a matter of finding Sam and saving him from all the other sickos who were involved in this mess.

*…*…*…*…*…*

**Author: This was another fun one to write once I actually got down to it. I decided to combine options A and B from the poll the other week; Sam had to decide whether he was willing to kill another human being AND he used his wit to escape. Of course, you have to wonder if Sam's humanity will come back to bite him in the end. Who knows… ;)**

**Also, Dean's scene was inspired by one of my favorite video games "The Last of Us." If anybody else picked up on that, let me know because that'd make my day!**

**Till next time, **

**Peanut**

**Oh, and leave reviews and words and stuff. **

**AND sorry for the errors that are probably in there; I didn't proofread this chapter much. **


	6. Chapter 6: Mistakes

Chapter Six: Mistakes

If his dad was there to see their escape, he wouldn't have been proud of Sam; he would have yelled at him mercilessly.

_You let everyone go their own separate ways and now you don't have safety in numbers. _

_You have one gun with three bullets left and another with five. You could have gotten a weapon for everyone in your party if you hadn't run away from the arena so quick. _

_You left your two captors alive. They could escape any time and hunt you down. _

_You didn't try to grab a cell phone to contact me or Dean. How are we supposed to find you now, Sam? _

_You didn't even look for a medicine kit before running off with a bullet in your leg. Now you're in agony and you're a burden to your team. _

The voice of John Winchester filled his mind and repeated these critiques a hundred times over. In a way, Sam actually humored those voices because it was better than focusing on the pain in his leg. The bullet was still lodged in his left calf, being worked in deeper by the limping steps that he took forward. The pillowcase that Rachel wrapped around his leg did a good job absorbing blood and keeping pressure on the wound, but it was soaked through now and not doing him as much good as it would if Dean had patched it up.

_Sam…_ John's disappointed voice called in his mind. _Sam…_

"Sam!"

Sam lifted his gaze from the ground to the person in front of him, quickly realizing that Rachel had been trying to get his attention for a good minute. And with that look on her face, he knew what was up.

"I'm fine," he said. "We need to keep moving." They were a fair distance away from the arena; the trees were so thick where they were that they could hardly even see the place where they were locked in cells. They were about halfway up the nearest mountain; all they had to do was keep walking and climb a tree at the top; then they could survey the area and decide which way to go. It wasn't a good situation, though—In a couple hours, it would be completely dark, and that was when most animals came out to hunt.

"You're _not _fine, Sam," Rachel interrupted. "You can barely walk. We need to do something about that injury." Cyan stared at him in silence, obviously agreeing.

"Let's be logical about this," Sam said, remaining calm despite the lightheadedness that he began to feel a while back. "Wedon't have anything we can use. We can't tear our clothes to use for bandages because when night comes, we'll need the warmth. There's no medicinal herbs in these woods and no water nearby to clean the wound. The best thing we can do is keep moving, scout the area, and try to find a place where there's water and shelter. Then we can worry."

Though Rachel clearly didn't like it, she couldn't fight Sam's logic. She had told him before that she was just a normal kid before all this began; she had no knowledge of survival skills aside from watching movies like "The Hunger Games." Cyan said he learned to fight in the streets of Detroit. Neither of them had the knowledge that he had from his experience. When they asked about it, he had shrugged and told them he loved camping and hunting. They didn't buy it, but it didn't matter. It was his skills and calm mind that were going to get them through this.

"Kid's right," Cyan said after a moment. "We gotta keep going." Sam opened his mouth to say thanks, but Cyan stared at him so fixedly that he shut it right away. "Rachel's right too—you can't keep this up. Pass your gun on to her and hop on my back." He bent down right away, outstretching his hands behind him.

Sam stared at him in shock. He still wasn't quite used to Cyan not hating him. not that he didn't appreciate the change of heart, because with all the things the voice in his head was telling him, the last thing he needed added to the list was, "_Your team is falling apart because you talked too much at night." _

"Up, kid," Cyan repeated.

Embarrassed and lightheaded, he submitted to the orders and climbed onto Cyan's back. He was reminded of when he was just a little kid, and how Dean would often put him on his back. Sometimes it was for fun and just for giving him rides, but other times, it was to carry him into hotel rooms after long days in the car. John would get the luggage and order Dean to wake his little brother so they'd go in to the room but instead he would shuffle Sam out of the backseat, set him on his back, and carrying him up to bed while barely wrestling him out of his slumber.

This wasn't Dean's back, and this wasn't for something as light as that. Even as Cyan began to walk forward, Sam felt the bullet stuck in his leg moving slightly. By that point, the pain from walking was so bad that even if he wasn't on his feet anymore, his leg was burning. He didn't say anything because there was nothing they could do to change it, and he didn't want to be any more of a burden.

Stopping by a tree, he noticed that it was extraordinarily tall. "Is somebody going to climb?" he asked, awkwardly picking his heavy head off Cyan's shoulder as he looked upward.

"I will," Rachel automatically said.

"_This is a bad idea," _John's voice told Sam. "_She has your guns. If she climbs, you're defenseless. Get up there. Don't be a burden. Don't let your team fall into danger." _

"Pass me a gun," Cyan said. "I'll watch our backs."

"With me on your back? Not a chance," Sam finally vocalized.

"I'll put you down," Cyan replied. "You don't mind sitting in the dirt, do you?"

It was a dumb question, meant to lighten the mood. Maybe in some way, Cyan understood the humiliation of being a fifteen year old boy and not being able to walk on your own. Maybe back in the streets of Detroit, he got into a fight where he couldn't walk away on his own. In their own weird way, Sam and Cyan probably weren't too different aside from what monsters they faced in most their fights.

He felt himself being set down on the ground, his back leaning against a nearby tree. He lifted his gaze upward and saw Rachel climbing. Once more, he was reminded of how she managed to survive for a year; she was both nimble and physically strong. Fifteen feet up, she didn't seem to be weary at all, despite the high elevation and the branches being spread out.

When the branches hid her from his sight, he looked over at Cyan, who was scanning the whole area for any signs of danger.

"_You did good, Sammy," _a new voice—Dean's voice, encouraged. _"You got some strong and capable people with you. Let 'em help you survive 'till I get there, okay?" _

_O-kay…_Sam looked down at his leg, seeing it through blurred eyes. He wasn't sure if it was caused by pain or blood loss, but there was nothing they could do about either issue. Like his brother's voice told him, he'd have to rely on his new friends to help him survive for a little while longer.

*…*…*…*…*…*

Sam didn't even realize that he lost consciousness at first. He felt like he just lost track of his thought and he was trying to get back to it. Little did he realize that he was out for a whole hour while Cyan and Rachel continued with their trek. He realized after a moment that the only reason he even woke up was because Cyan almost tripped on a large rock.

"Careful!" Rachel's voice warned Cyan.

Sam immediately forced himself awake, blinking as he took in their different surroundings. It was darker out, for one thing. And he could see more sky. There were hardly any trees at all around them where they were walking—well, not many considering how dense it was before.

"Wherearewe?" Sam muttered, lifting up his chin and looking around.

His companions immediately took notice and stopped completely.

"Sam? How do you feel?" Rachel asked in worry.

"'mfine," he responded. Truthfully, he was still in a ton of pain, but it was better since he stopped walking on that leg. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound more coherent. "Where are we?"

"We found a ranger's cabin," Cyan said. "Just up ahead, see?"

Sam followed Rachel's gaze to the small building. Sure enough, there was a small log cabin less than fifty yards away from them with a sign that read "ranger."

"She saw it when she climbed that tree," Cyan was saying. "What luck, huh?"

_Good luck doesn't exist, _Dad's voice reminded him. _Only bad luck. _

"I don't know about this," Sam said uneasily.

"What's not to know?"

"It's…" _too good to be true. Right. _There was something else itching at the back of his mind; some warning that this wasn't just too good to be true. Why couldn't he put it into words?

"Let's not question it," Rachel said quickly. "We can go in and if someone's there, they can help. If not, they've gotta have _some _way back to civilization."

"And if there's one of those guys in there, it's three against one," Cyan added. "We'll be fine."

"And you need medical attention," Rachel added.

Sam could hardly deny it; his leg was better but if they didn't do something about it soon, it'd be infected. That would be far worse pain and much more life threatening.

"…Alright," he conceded. It wasn't like he had much choice since Cyan and Rachel took charge of their escape. He knew that he was the one who set all of them free in the first place, but he still felt responsible for everything. He just hoped that for once, something good would happen.

When they made it up to the door, Rachel simply opened it and walked in. It was a one room log cab with only one personal bed and one laid out for a medical patient. A desk with the basics of books and a small computer sat on the right-hand side of the room while a mini kitchen was to the left.

A man—a potential enemy—stood at the stove.

He turned around with a jump, staring at the three who just entered. Because of his job, he immediately surveyed them and saw that Sam was wounded.

"Set him down on the bed," said the man. "What happened to him?"

"A hunting accident," Sam said before anyone else could unleash the whole truth. Cyan walked him over and set him on the bed as carefully as he could, though Sam still winced in pain once he was settled. "I have a bullet in my leg."

The man who would either save or kill him knelt down in front of him, staring at the makeshift tourniquet. "We don't have many hunters this far out," he was saying. "A few regulars but never anybody as young as you."

"Does it matter?" Rachel intervened with a snap. Sam looked over at her, seeing the tension in her expression. "Can you help him?"

"Of course," said the man. "Give me a moment to get my medicine kit and gloves."

While the man went to the other side to grab it, Sam glanced over at Cyan. He had wordlessly taken post at the window, staring out to see if anybody was coming. Rachel looked at Sam the whole time. Honestly, the worry in her eyes reminded him of how Dean often looked at him whenever they were on a dangerous hunt.

He looked away and back to the man, who was back with all of his supplies. The man himself didn't look evil or monstrous, but then, none of the other men did at first. He was just beginning to get some gray hair and his face didn't show too many wrinkles or frown-lines. _Please be on our side. Please be on our side…_

"This will take some time," he warned Sam. "I need to do some digging to get that bullet out."

"I can handle pain," he said quietly.

"You won't need to. I have medicine right here that'll soften the blow."

"Do it," Rachel said.

"What? No," Sam disagreed. Who knew what kind of mental state that stuff would put him in? What if this guy was poisoning him or he was trying to kill him?

"I'm sorry." He didn't bother arguing with Sam; he simply stabbed a needle into Sam's good leg and inserted the medicine. Sam gasped in pain, squeezing his eyes shut. Being filled with drugs was a sensation that he would never get used to.

"That medicine will work soon," the ranger informed them. "Once his senses are dulled enough, I can get to work."

_I didn't want drugs. I would have been fine without drugs, _Sam thought over and over again, desperate to somehow get it out of his system. He stared at his knees for a few minutes, calculating how it was affecting him. It was true that his pain began to diminish, but he also felt like his other senses dulled. What was in that needle?

"Rachel," Cyan's faint voice called from the window. Sam turned his heavy head and looked over, seeing exactly what had Cyan alarmed. Two men just walked past the window and knocked on the front door.

"Who are they?" Rachel demanded.

"Them?" the ranger repeated. "They're regular hunters up here. They stop in sometimes to say hello."

"Don't let them in. I don't want them seeing Sam when he's…"

"I'm sorry young lady, but Sam will have to bear some embarrassment. I need to confirm with them that everything's alright."

The ranger opened the door and stepped to the side, letting in two men that Sam recognized even in his dazed state. They were two spectators from the arena. And they were well armed.

They stared at Sam, Rachel, and Cyan before looking back to the ranger. The two men obviously knew that they were escapees, but the question was, would they dare do anything in front of the park ranger? And if they did, would Cyan and Rachel be able to fight off the two of them while they only had two guns with very limited ammo?

Cyan didn't wait to find out. He pulled his gun out of his belt and aimed it at one of the men. "Don't move," he ordered from his spot. However, he didn't have a chance to say anything else. The window beside him suddenly shattered from the impact of a bullet. At first, Sam thought that he simply fell to the ground to avoid whoever tried to shoot him before.

Then he realized that there was no need to avoid the shooter, because even if the shooter did go again, the damage was already done.

Blood began to spill from a whole in Cyan's temple.

"**NO**!" Rachel screeched, reaching a hand towards Cyan as if to help him. However, she quickly realized just how little good that would do for her. Instead, she darted over to Sam and wrapped her arms around him, shielding him from the men who entered the room. Sam blankly realized what was going on and heard one man's voice ringing.

"It's a shame," he said, "we hoped that we would take three of you out of here. Of course the man would pull a gun and we'd have to kill him. But at least we have two youth to take back with us."

_No. No…_

"Well done, Ranger Rick," a man smirked. "And you even started treating our young warrior's wound."

"Of course," the ranger smiled. "Even out here, I've heard rumors of this one. He'll bring some attention back to our fights, ay Steve?"

"You got that right."

As the men continued to have their jovial conversation, Sam regained one moment of mental clarity. This situation wasn't just one enemy in a hut. The words he sought for earlier were suddenly right there, staring him straight in the face. This wasn't just one man stationed in the hills to look for runaways. This was a full blown trap set just for them. And they fell into it because he didn't listen to his gut or follow the lessons his dad taught him.

The drugs began to take effect even more. His senses of touch and hearing were already dulled to the point of nonexistence, and now his sight and consciousness were doing to. As his world began to fade to black, he heard Dad's words in his ear once again.

_You should have listened to me, son. Never put your life in other people's hands. _

*…*…*…*…*…*

**Author: Phew, this chapter is LATE! Thank you to those of you who are sticking with the story. I hope that you'll continue to follow it despite my updates becoming more sporadic. If you're following my other story, then you've already been warned that I just don't have the time to write at the moment. I hope that will change but until then, updates will be pretty spread out. **

**SO, until next time (whenever that is)**

**Peanut**


	7. Chapter 7: Firefight

Chapter Seven: Firefight

It took Dean, Bobby, and John too long to get to the coordinates. It took a while for both adults to meet up with Dean, and even though he was most anxious out of any of them to find Sammy, he knew better than to charge to that arena all by himself.

Eventually he did make it. And when he saw that arena with his own eyes, his normally stable stomach went queasy on him. Sammy was forced to fight in there. He had to fight animals and maybe even humans in there because some sickos decreed it so.

Well, that was over now. _I'm here to get you out, Sam, _he mentally conveyed. He laid down on one of the hills nearby, scanning the populated area below. A fight was in session, but it wasn't Sam. It was some middle-aged man facing off against two young wolves. All he had to defend himself was a single hatchet and his wits. The wolves may have just been pups, but it was obvious to him that the man was wounded already. Dean didn't know that it was actually a man who previously stood guard over the prisoners. That man was demoted to wolf food after he and his partner failed to keep the prisoners in check a day and a half ago.

"Dean? You see anything alarming?" Bobby asked from beside him. He was always in the loop, and as soon as they had an actual location for Sam, he was on his way. Same thing with John, who stood back with another group of men.

Dad may have been absent for most of this, but there was one good thing about being the son of John Winchester: A lot of hunters were indebted to him. John was such a devoted and skilled hunter that he saved other people all the time. He called in all his debts and told everyone to make their way to Montana to rescue his boy.

He couldn't dwell on his dad any longer though. It was time. The hunters had their plan and were ready to begin, before anyone else died. They all silently went down on the ground and set up their assault rifles. spreading out across the hill so they could cover a wide range and especially get their sights on the public seating. Dean did the same and laid down where he was. Even if he never actually used an assault rifle in battle, he made it a priority to know how to work any weapon. John too looked like a professional as he lie down on the ground thirty feet away.

The crowd down below cheered at the match. Dean set his finger on the trigger and waited for the first sniper shots to go off.

It was hardly even a noticeable sound when the silenced bullet sped down below and sank into the right hand of the armed ringleader. Dean heard his cry of pain and stiffened. Two more shots went off in succession. _Bang. Bang. _Two more people found themselves with bleeding hands.

And then they realized that they were being sniped off. Every single person in the crowd ducked for cover and grabbed at their guns. It was then that Dean, John, Bobby, and all the other hunters began to fire at will. The good thing about all the shots going at once was that Dean didn't know how many of his were killing men and how many were other hunters. He'd never know if he actually killed a human being or not.

He mindlessly shot off bullets until he heard the message going down the line. "Phase two!" the hunter beside him shouted. He rose to his feet and readjusted his gun as Dean did the same.

"Phase two!" Dean repeated to the next member down the line: his dad. John was already on his feet and ready to charge. He strapped the rifle onto his back and grabbed hold of his pistol: a more familiar weapon. Dean was tempted to do the same, but there was no time. He held onto his gun tightly and ran down the hill, a cry of frustration leaving his lips.

He knew the plan was to gradually close in on the arena and shoot down anyone who opposed them, and that they were supposed to save the people only after everyone was secured. He also knew that he was under strict orders to not rush into things and stick to the plan.

But when he saw the open path to that lonely cement building, Dean sprinted for it. It was close enough to him that nobody noticed him break formation; not even his father saw it. As soon as he reached that back door, he rammed his shoulder into it and opened it. He raised his gun in anticipation of shooting some kind of guard, but all he saw in front of him was an empty hallway and walls lined with prison-like cells.

Everyone in their cells just stared at him. Obviously they heard the gunshots outside and were wondering what was going on, but the last thing they expected to see was a skinny guy in a navy blue jacket break in.

Dean cleared his throat, deciding to keep his role somewhat alive. "Uh...a team's here mounting a rescue," he declared. "How many of you are there?" 

"Eight," a voice immediately to his right said. Not Sammy. 

"I'm looking for someone specific," he said. "A teen guy. Young, shaggy brown hair…probably came in about a week ago." 

"Is his name Sam?" a female voice from down the line called. 

As soon as Dean heard his brother's name, he hurriedly walked down that hall. He knew everyone was anxious to get out of their cages and escape, but at that moment, he only had one person on his mind. He stood outside that girl's cell, meeting her red eyes with his worried green ones. "Is he okay?" he asked fearfully. 

"He's right behind you," she said softly.

Dean spun around and saw the cell behind him. It took him a moment to even recognize the figure that was hunched over on his bed. "Sammy," he said without thought. He lowered his gun to his side, grasping the bars in front of him. "Sammy!" His little brother lifted his head and looked at him, but his eyes were glassed over and his simple head movement uncoordinated. Barely even conscious.

"They drugged him," the girl continued. "Sedated him with wolf tranquilizer since we tried to escape two days ago."

Dean's fear turned to rage. All those people outside were personally going to die by his hand. He tightened his grip on both the gun and the bar, conflicted for only a brief moment before he realized what was really important. He wasn't going to let Sammy out of his sight again. He had to get him out of that cage and get him as far away from this place as possible.

"Key?" he asked simply.

"On one of the guys outside."

No way was he going out in that chaos. Fortunately for him, Sammy wasn't anywhere near the door's lock. "Cover your ears," he ordered everyone. He didn't even wait for them to complete that action. He lifted his gun and shot the lock, destroying it with a single shot. He swung that door open and stepped inside. When he was closer to Sam, he felt his heart sink. The kid was covered in scrapes and bruises. Fortunately nothing needed immediate medical attention; he just needed to get those drugs to wear off and then Sam would be good enough to move.

The first thing he did was get the gun out of his hand. He threw it carelessly onto the bed before he lifted a hand and grabbed his brother's face lightly and gave it a gentle tap. "Sammy, you gotta snap out of this," he ordered gently. "Look at me, I'm here. I'm getting you out of here, alright?"

Across from him, something clicked in Rachel's mind. "You're his brother, aren't you?" Dean turned to look at her, surprised she figured it out. "He told me you'd come. He forgot to mention you were part of a, uh, rescue team…"

"Yeah, kinda forced my way in to save him," Dean admitted, too concerned about Sam to create a lie. But he _was _here to save more than Sam now. He took his hand away, fingering the gun again. "I'm gonna let everyone out," he declared. "Stay away from the locks; I'm coming around."

He turned around and went right for the girl's cell and cleanly took her lock off. When she stepped out, her eyes were teary. "Thank you," she said.

"Stay here," he told her. "There's still a firefight outside."

"Got it."

Dean walked through the whole cell area. The ages, ethnicities, and sizes of everyone were so scattered that it was no wonder the case wasn't solved before. But Sam got it. Sam got right to the bottom of it and as soon as he did, he was taken. That just went to show how smart Sam was, and how the minute he interviewed that guy, he was on their radar. If he had just stayed with him instead of helping their dad with a case; if he had just been there to protect him…

He shook his head and discarded his thoughts with the action. Now wasn't the time to worry about that. He went back to the open cell, walking past the people who were congregating into the hall so that they could escape as soon as the fight was over.

A meek voice from that cell greeted him. "Dean?"

The elder brother was so relieved to hear that voice that he didn't care how groggy, tired, and disoriented it sounded. He stepped back in and set a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Yeah Sammy, I'm here," he said. "How you doin'?"

"Peachy," Sam mumbled. "What took so long?"

Sam didn't mean for the question to sting, but it certainly did. Dean frowned and set a hand on the top of Sam's head, running it over his bushy brown hair and straightening it. "I'm not as smart as you, Sammy," he said quietly. "I couldn't figure it out in time. ..But I'm here now, and I'm saving your butt. Can you walk?"

"Yeah."

Honestly, Dean doubted Sam could even _stand_ with how tired he was, but he wasn't going to just toss his brother over his shoulder and make a run for it. Sam would be humiliated even further if he was carried out of there like a limp ragdoll.

Fortunately for both of them, Sam was surprisingly stable when he stood on his own two feet. Dean's hands hovered for a few moments, ready to catch Sam the moment he tumbled. When Sam cast him one of his teenage expressions, Dean took his hands away. Sam didn't want or need his help.

"Dad's part of the fight outside, and so's Bobby. We gotta get someplace safe and meet up with them when the fight's over," Dean said, glancing at the group who congregated at the far end of the hall. "You know any ways we can sneak out of here?"

Sam too looked around. "That back door," he said slowly, jerking his head towards it as he spoke. "They always came in there with food 'nd medicine. …There might e'n be a truck still there…"

Dean set a hand on Sammy's shoulder, giving him a pat before he walked out into the hall. _Good job, Sam. _Without his keen eye, they would have been in trouble. _You leave the rest to me. _He looked at the group, who noticed him and Sam moving. They had noticed the same thing he had: the fighting outside had quieted down significantly. It was probably time for them to move.

"Stay there," Dean ordered the whole group. "I'll make sure it's safe." If it was, they could all go out that door and he and Sam could disappear that much easier. If not, well, they'd have to come up with another plan. Sam was being a trouper, but he was swaying on his feet for the few steps he followed his brother. Dean briefly lifted a hand to tell him to stay back too, and he understood. He leaned against the wall and waited, watching as Dean calmly approached the door.

_Everyone's probably just rounding up the last few sickos, _he thought as he set a hand on the handle. There were still a few gunshots outside, but it was so subdued compared to before that Dean figured the hard work was done. They were almost home free…

As he twisted the knob, the door suddenly flew open in his direction. Dean's eyes widened in alarm when somebody plowed into him and knocked him to the ground. He automatically reached for the pistol he still had holstered on his side. This guy surely hadn't meant to tackle him, but he was trying to break in and get away from the fight. Now that he tackled a member of that group, he wasn't going to give up that position of superiority.

Dean lifted his gun to take a shot, but the larger man swatted it away. It slid across the floor, away from him. His other hand shot up to shove the guy off of him, but the criminal had other ideas. He lowered his fist and hit Dean square in the cheek, forcing him to look the opposite direction. He gasped from the impact, desperately trying to somehow get his hands up to either shove the guy away or at least block his punches. The hits were just coming in too fast! It was hard to even breath with the force of each impact and the speed at which they came.

He was completely at this guy's mercy.

_I didn't come here to die! _he thought, taking yet another dizzying punch to the face. As his vision began to blacken, all of a sudden, he heard a shot resound through the area. He flinched and prepared for the impact, but it never hit him. Dean peeked his eyes open and saw the man above him fall over to the side, his temple bleeding.

When he looked over to the side, he was terrified to see that it was Sam who stood beside him, holding the gun in his hands. He was shaking like a leaf.

"Sammy!" Dean roared in terror-fueled anger. "You nearly blew my head off!" What was he thinking, taking a gun and shooting it so close to him when he was in the state he was in? It was a miracle that the goon was shot and not Dean. He rose to his feet, snatching the gun out of Sam's hands and putting the safety back on with a simple click.

_Of all the stupid things you've done, Sam, this is—_Dean's mental tirade was interrupted when Sam suddenly began to fall forward. His arms automatically reached out and caught Sam, pulling him towards him and keeping him upright. "Sam?" he asked, less angry but more panicked. Just like that, his mindset changed from "Sam could have gotten me killed" to "Sam's still hurting and he still jumped into action and saved me."

"I'm sorry Sammy," Dean whispered, gently cradling his brother to his chest. He wanted to take back his yell and just give his brother all the care that he needed, but there was still so much fighting outside. Obviously going out in the middle of all that wasn't a good idea, and if he stood too close to a door, the same thing could happen again.

"Everyone, go back to your cells," he said quietly as he picked up his brother and carried him back to his. "Just close the door most of the way and wait. My team'll be in soon and then we'll all be safe…." _Sam_'ll be safe. He set his brother upright on his bed and sat down right beside him, keeping an arm wrapped around his shoulders and a gun in his other hand. Sammy was so frail beneath his arm; he had lost weight since coming and had no strength to resist or return Dean's affectionate hold. Dean wanted to scream out a stream of curses and doubly kill everyone responsible for this, but he didn't. He sat with Sam and rubbed his shoulder and stared at the cell door in anticipation. He waited and waited and listened for the hunters to burst in and tell them that it was all over.

His dad didn't come in for an agonizingly long twenty-two minutes. And when he did, he only briefly skimmed Dean for injuries before he looked at Sam. The noise of the other hunters and captives faded out as the father and son focused on Sam, speaking to him, gently shaking him-but it was only Dean who pleaded for Sam to wake up.

When John heard Dean pleading, he shook his head. "Let him go," Dad said softly. "It's better he's not awake to see the carnage outside."

It was at that moment that Dean remembered that Sam had seen some carnage already; the man that he killed still laid in a pool of blood by the doorway. "Dad," Dean returned, swallowing back a lump in his throat as he spoke. "Sam killed that one by the door. To save me."

John's expression was unreadable, which was both a blessing and a curse for Dean. All his father did was nod and move to grasp Sam's shoulder. "We're leaving," he declared to Dean and to Bobby, who had entered the cell at that moment to check on them. "Bobby, are you good?"

"No, but go. Where can I meet you?"

"Three Springs Hotel, under John Wilcox."

"Okay. Go."

It was John who picked up Sam and began to carry him out, not Dean. Every one of Dean's instincts pleaded in protest; he wanted to be the one to carry his little brother just a little further. But he wasn't going to speak out against his father, not after he disobeyed orders and ran in after Sam too early. That was the reason why that man made it in, and why he was dangerously close to killing Dean.

Dean briefly closed his eyes, but then opened them once more. When they made it back to the hotel, he knew that he was in for it. But at that moment, it didn't matter.

Sammy was, finally, okay.

*...*...*...*...*...*

Author: It's been way too long since I updated this story. I missed writing it! I've been working on it over the past few days and even though I originally planned for the story to end around 7 chapters, there's so much more to this storyverse that could be covered. And so, I would like you readers to help me decide the path once again.

Sam, Dean, and John do not immediately leave town; John knows that there are more scouts in that town, and unless he stays behind to take care of them, the fighting arena would just come back to life again. However, the decision to stay may have put his boys in danger.

Once more, they do not immediately leave town. At first, it's to let Sam recover, but then there's a legitimate hunt to be completed. Sam is coping with the fact that he killed a man, and so he goes out for some fresh air and faces a monster that, oddly enough, is not as terrifying as the men he just faced.

Any other ideas

Well, I hope to get the next update out sooner, but no promises. Thanks for sticking around, you guys. Your reviews and follows inspire me to write :)

Peanut


	8. Chapter 8: Malice

Chapter Eight: Malice

Pig's feet. That was one thing that Sam never thought he'd be looking for in a convenience store in the middle of small-town Montana. And he certainly never thought he'd be looking for it in the town where he was kidnapped and enlisted into a fighting ring for.

In perspective, it was amazing how short a time span everything took place over. His family arrived in that town less than a month ago, he was kidnapped about three weeks ago, and returned safely five days ago. The first few days back were hardly memorable though—not because it was just insignificant little things not worth noting—but because he was nearly delirious on pain medication for the first three days.

He hardly remembered Dean coming to get him at first, but it eventually started coming back. He had been so loopy because the villains gave him morphine to take away the pain from his leg. After some debating, the men had decided to give him the best treatment possible so he'd be back in the ring. Someone with his intelligence and physical stamina could bring in good business, if they could just reign in his rebellious tendencies.

Of course that changed when the hunters arrived. Dad didn't really talk about it, but Dean had told him that over fifty hunters from at least nine states away came in just because John Winchester called in his favors. They swept in from the hillside and killed or captured every single nut there. Dean (of course) broke rank and came to Sam.

Dean didn't fill in the next details; that was left to Sam's memory alone, since Dean hated to recount how hurt and dazed Sam was at the time. He told Sam not to think too deep about anything, so naturally that's exactly what Sam did. He remembered Dean being tackled and wrestling with one of the ringleaders. He remembered grabbing a gun and walking over, senses numbed by the morphine and shock. He had pulled the trigger, and then…

_Bang!_

Sam jumped, hurting his leg with the weight he put on it with that quick movement. He was back in reality, in the middle of a convenience store with a broken jar of pig's feet lying at his sneakers. His crutches had also toppled to the side, fortunately not taking anything down with them. He looked down with wide eyes as he tried to fully comprehend what happened.

_It wasn't a gunshot, _he slowly began to realize. _It was just shattering glass. It wasn't a gun. I didn't—_

"You okay, kid?"

The new voice made him jump out of his skin once again, and this time when he put the weight on his injured leg, he couldn't withstand it. He reached out and grasped one of the shelves and stood upright only because of that support.

Over to his left, a civilian in jeans and a black polo stood and looked at him with bewilderment. The man stood pretty tall, and the muscles in his arms screamed that he was a force to be reckoned with. Sam immediately jumped to the worst conclusion. _No. No no no…_This man was with the others. He was going to grab him and take him back to that ring again. He'd have to fight. Worse than fight, he'd have to kill. Again.

Over on his other side, the young blond cashier walked over with a broom to clean up the shattered glass. "Don't worry about it," he said as he began to clean up around Sam. "Trust me, you're doing the world a favor by dropping it. Pig's feet are the worst, am I right?" Sam didn't respond; he was too scared ad uncertain. When the cashier saw that, he stopped cleaning and handed Sam the crutches. "Hey, seriously, it's no big deal," he restated. "I won't tell your parents."

Parent. Dad. _Crap. _His dad was going to be really upset if he stayed at the store any longer. "I'm sorry!" Sam blurted, gripping his crutches tightly as he miraculously made his way through the mess, through the aisle, and out of the building.

The sunshine and crisp mountain air that greeted him didn't do anything to calm his nerves. With his legs shaking as badly as they were, he couldn't believe he was still upright and moving at the pace that he was. The motel was only about four blocks away, and with his adrenaline it seemed much closer than that. Before he knew it, he was there—a shaking, sweating, unnerved mess. Dad wouldn't approve. He stalled outside the door and took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. Everything was okay. The man hadn't followed him out of the store and nobody else was looking at him Even if they were, he had his family four feet away.

_It's okay. _

He took one final breath, slid the keycard through the door, and hobbled in on his crutches.

Dean and Dad were both in there. Dean, who had previously been staring blankly at the TV screen, practically jumped off the bed when he saw his little brother. "Sam," Dean said in a startled tone. Dad looked up too, though he didn't look as panicked.

"Where's the food?" John asked his boy as Sam closed the door.

"They…were out," he lied. He walked—no, hobbled, over to his bed and sat down gracelessly.

"You okay, Sammy?"

"My leg really hurts," Sam winced. At least he was being truthful about that one. With his crutches leaning on the side of the bed, he used both his hands to pick up his leg and lay it out. The movement made it worse, but he knew that it was best to take the weight completely off of it for a while.

There was one other thing he knew, though: Dean saw right through him. He knew that this was more than his leg hurting.

"I'll go get some more pain medicine," Dad said. He rose from the table he had been sitting at and made his way to the bathroom. There was a map on the table, and detailed notes about some of the conspirators he believed were left in town. That was the whole reason they were still in town: Dad wasn't going to let this go. His boy was kidnapped, and so anyone who had a hand in it was going to suffer. If it wasn't for that vengeful nature, they'd have left a while ago and went to Bobby's to recover. Sam wished his dad just let it drop, but he knew that was never going to happen. If John Winchester was anything, it was vengeful.

Dean on the other hand, could be summed up with the word "protective." As soon as Dad went into the bathroom, he cast his younger brother a look of concern. He wanted info, but he wasn't going to get it. Sam merely shook his head and looked back at the bathroom door. The whole incident was so stupid that if Dad heard about it, he'd be even more ticked.

Dad came back out with a glass of water and two large pills. Sam could tell they were particularly large because Dad's large hands normally made whatever he was holding look smaller. Ignoring his hatred of pills, Sam grasped hold of both water and pills and swallowed them as quickly as he could. It was hard to do it when Dean and Dad kept staring at him like that.

After a few moments, Dad thankfully moved towards the desk and the chair his coat was hanging on. "I'll go get some food," he said as he prepared himself. "What do you want, Sam?"

_Nothing, I'm not hungry. _"Soup is fine."

"Dean?"

"Anything's fine."

Dad nodded and gave both his boys a once over—Sam in particular, of course. Then he gave Dean one of those nods that he knew so well before he stepped outside and walked away.

Of course Dean didn't waste any time turning his gaze to Sam. Sam expected Dean to immediately spout, "Okay, what happened?" but he didn't. He just kept staring, hoping that Sam would open up on his own.

Dean should have known better. Sam hadn't willingly shared anything with them since the whole incident, and he certainly wasn't about to start now. Sam stared at the TV screen like he was so captivated by the 12:00 news segment on stray moose that he couldn't even notice Dean staring at him. _Give it up, Dean, _he mentally pleaded. _I'll keep being stubborn if I have to. Just…stop staring._

"Sammy," Dean sighed, shattering Sam's dreams of peace. "Dad'll be out for a while. I think it's time you tell us what happened."

No.

"Sammy."

_No._

"You have to…"

"No."

Dean leaned away slightly at the response. Even if he wasn't looking, Sam could see the wheels turning in his brother's head. He was wondering what he could say to get him to talk, if there was anything at all.

"…We at least have to know how you got the wound, Sammy," Dean began after a minute. "We need to know in case it affects how we treat it."

"It doesn't affect it."

Dean lost his patience with that one. Firmly, but somehow gently, he grabbed Sam's frail shoulders and made him face him. He stared at him with serious but caring eyes. "Listen, Sam," he said, forcing his brother to keep eye contact with him. "You're not the only one scared here, okay? Dad and I…We were freaked once we knew something happened to you. And knowing that you were in danger and not being able to save you, it scared us like nothing ever did before. But it's never gonna happen again. Dad's gonna finish this and get the people responsible for this, okay? You don't have to be afraid anym-"

"I'm not," Sam whispered.

Dead blinked in astonishment. "..What?"

Sam looked Dean in the eye as he tried to process it himself. He remembered back to the Convenience shop, when he saw that man come at him and his first fear was being taken away again. But he was starting to realize that as horrific as the men were, he wasn't afraid of them anymore. His fears were much more permanent than that. "I'm not afraid of being taken back. You have my back."

"I do…" Dean agreed, loosening his grip on Sam's shoulders. "But if you're not scared of that, what are you scared of?"

_Aside from losing you, like I almost did back there? I'm scared of me. Of what I can be turned into—what I __**have**__ been turned into. A murderer. _

"I want to get some sleep," Sam said as he began to turn away from his brother. Dean's hands slowly came off his shoulders as Sam turned onto his side and laid his head down on the pillow to rest. He thought that he'd just fake it, but once he was down, he realized just how exhausted he was from not just the trip to the store, but by life, and by his own condemning thoughts that now he really wasn't pure. Whatever that meant.

Even if Dean tried to pick of the conversation again, Sam didn't notice. His head dropped into the rock-hard motel pillow as his eyelids stuck together. Rest. That was what he needed.

He felt like he was out for a little while. It was one of those foggy sleeps where he dreamt something but could only remember the general tone behind it, not a single thing about the dream's content.

What he _did_ remember was how startled he was when he suddenly heard the motel room door slam closed. Dean, who was still sitting on the bed next to him, jumped to his feet with gun in hand when the noisy person broke into the room.

Sam also opened his eyes and looked over as he quickly propped himself up.

"Dad," Dean said from behind Sam. "What's g-"

"Pack everything up and go to the car," Dad interrupted. "Now."

Dean, being the good son he was, instantly obeyed. Sam normally would have prodded his Dad for more answers but he wasn't exactly in the talking mood. He did notice, though, that his dad didn't have any groceries with him either.

_Something happened while he was out. Something bad._

While Dean shoved all their clothes into the duffle, Sam reached for his crutches. Dad had his gun in his hand for just a brief moment, but then he put it away. Why did he even have it out in the first place, though? And why was he so panicked?

There wasn't any time to think. The three men were out to their car in record time and on the highway out of town. Dean was riding shotgun with Dad at the wheel. Sam was in the back seat, and he should have had his leg stretched out across the back seat to keep it elevated, but he the bumps in the road were already making the ride too painful for him to consider moving.

Dean glanced back and saw Sam's pale face. He opened his mouth to tell Dad to slow down, but once he saw his father's face, he quickly closed his mouth and looked around.

They drove for a long while in unusual silence. Sam didn't poke around for answers and Dean didn't dare do anything that could be considered disrespectful.

Ten miles out of town, still silent.

Thirty, not a word.

At thirty-seven, Dean passed Sam some pain medication and a bottle of water, since John was still speeding over bumpy roads.

By forty-four, Sam was lying on the back seat and about ready to pass out. Dean saw it and Dad caught sight of it. They thought they had their privacy, so Dean finally spoke up.

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

Sam kept his eyes closed and listened in close. The pain medicine was making him foggy again. All he wanted to do was sleep and wait for the pain and the nagging in his mind to go away, but he wanted the truth too.

"I went to the store that Sam was at," Dad said just as softly. "They were cleaning up a mess. Said that a kid on crutches suddenly dropped the jar, 'freaked out,' and left." While Sam slunk into the seat in silent embarrassment, his father continued. "Then they mentioned that some middle aged guy approached him and that seemed to spook him even more. So I asked where he went and I confronted him."

Dean obviously wasn't sure what to make of the story so he waited for John to continue.

"I put two and two together and figured that he was with the arena," John said with bitterness Sam never heard before. "Took him into a dark place and killed him. It was sloppy and I figured we might be in trouble if we stuck around."

Sam heard Dean gasp just slightly as soon as he heard the revelation, but he was more concerned with how loudly his own heart was beating. No. No. No… His dad had it wrong. That guy wasn't guilty in any way. All he did was stand half a foot too close and stay there while Sam snapped out of his daze.

A part of Sam wanted to scream. That was another person that was dead because of him, and unlike the person at the arena, this one was 100% innocent. He felt bad enough taking the life of a criminally insane man who pitted people against each other for sport. No matter how corrupt a soul was, it was still a soul that he had no right taking away. And now his dad took another one in his name.

Sam couldn't hold it back. He began to cough as bile rose up in his throat.

Whatever conversation Dad and Dean were having ended immediately as John glanced back and saw Sam's green face. He pulled over to the side of the road. "Dean," he barked.

Dean was already on it. He undid his own seatbelt, exited the shotgun seat, and opened the door right by Sammy's head. He gently but quickly pulled his little brother up and out of the car and helped him stand outside as he lost the minimal amount of food he ate and the pain medication that hadn't had a chance to settle.

Sam was at least lucky that his dad and brother didn't try to rush him. They gave him all the time that he needed to get it out and even an extra minute to compose himself. Deep down, he wondered if they connected this episode with their conversation. Probably.

"You good, Sammy?" Dean asked as he knelt down next to his brother, keeping a hand on his shoulder to keep him steady as Sam sat on his bum.

"Water?" he requested instead.

Dad was suddenly there with a bottle. "What happened?" he asked.

_A chance to lie about eavesdropping. …Good._

"Dunno," Sam said as he opened the water and took a drink. Yeah, some lie that was.

"When's the last time you ate?"

Now there was a question he didn't actually have an answer to.

"Been a long while, right? You eat anything today?"

"This morning," Sam said after a moment. "…toast."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his dad nod. "You gotta have more than that in your stomach. The pain meds caused this." It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

"I think so," Sam agreed. Dean said nothing.

"Let's get moving and get you some food then," John suggested. "Then you can take some medicine and go back to sleep."

"Yes'ir," Sam complied. He turned slightly and reached for the car door to keep himself steady. Dean wouldn't allow it. His hand tightly grasped Sam's arm and he supported his little brother the single step he had to take to get back in the car. Expecting Dean to go back to his seat, Sam was surprised when Dean walked around the other side and sat in the back with him. Dean didn't reach out and hold him, but his presence was close enough that Sam felt more secure.

If Dad disapproved, he didn't show it. Not today. If this was a typical hunting accident, Dad would have barked at Dean to sit up front and not treat Sam like a baby. And then he would have barked at Sam, told him to put his leg up and sleep. All he did today was grip the wheel tightly and drive.

Of course, they were still in Montana—heading towards Bobby's house that was so far away. The roads of Montana were long, single-lane roads where it was rare to see either car or restaurant on the path. It hardly made a difference to Sam, who leaned his head back against the seat and uncomfortably slouched down.

He was good at faking it; that was one conclusion he came to. Dad was either convinced that the medicine really caused the sickness, or he was acting that way because he refused to acknowledge that Sam probably overheard the conversation. Dead, who was normally so adamant about finding out the truth of everything when it came to Sam, took Dad's approach. He refused to dig deeper and stare at Sam to try and figure it out. He did, however, lift his hand at one point and set it atop of Sam's mop-like hair and leave it sit there.

Eventually, Sam closed his eyes as the warmth of Dean's hand lingered. He wasn't sure when they'd stop and get food, or if he would even be able to stomach anything after hearing what his dad did for his sake.

All he knew was that it was going to be a long drive to South Dakota.

*…*…*…*…*…*…*

**Author's Note: Hello to any readers still out there! I know, it's been a VERY long time since I updated the story. So if you're still around and reading this, thanks for waiting. **** If you remember, last chapter I gave you a choice of what would happen. I tried going with the majority vote but every time I tried to follow that thread, it just became so illogical and dumb that I had to scrap it all and take this route. Either way, I'm happy with how it turned out. I'll be adding an epilogue at some point (hopefully it won't take me as long as this chapter did). **

**Peanut**


	9. Chapter 9: Men Play Monsters

Conclusion: Men Play Monsters

Bobby wasn't expecting them. Of course he wasn't. Last time he saw John, Dean, and Sam, they were at the hotel room, treating the boy for his shock and trying to wean him off whatever drug they put him on. And they all remembered how much pain he was in after the succeeded in that one, and how bad the leg was.

The hunter figured that John would keep Sam there for a while to help him recover. Then he learned the true reason John was staying: to kill any ring members that were still alive. He scoffed and came back home. Bobby definitely wanted those men to come to justice, but putting vengeance above Sam's health was such a turn off that he elected to return home.

So, it was quite a surprise when the three of them showed up on his door step that day. He immediately invited them inside and told them all to sit down, but John gave a different order. He told Dean to take Sam up to the spare bed and have him lie down.

That just left John with Bobby, and that was quite the talk. John got worked up when Sam came home from the store upset, so he went and found the person who supposedly upset him. Then, he did the unthinkable and he shot the man and killed him.

Bobby asked if Sam knew, and John just stared at him. That was a useless question to ask. When it came to Sam, John had his own filter. He chose to believe what he wanted, and if he wanted to believe that Sam didn't know, then Sam didn't know. That method didn't always correlate with reality, but it worked for John.

After that, John told him he was leaving. He was going for a hunt in Indiana and he'd be back in a week.

That was two weeks ago. The boys stayed with Bobby and John Winchester hadn't returned yet.

The three that were left had varying responses. Bobby was pissed off at John for leaving, but not surprised. Dean was choosing to be worried over angry; maybe his dad was hurt on a hunt, not just avoiding them. Sam…well, he didn't have much of a reaction. To anything.

"I got you a grilled cheese," Bobby said as he walked into his living room. Sam was sitting there on the couch, watching the mid-day news. He jumped slightly at Bobby's voice but reached out and accepted the sandwich with a "thanks." Bobby sat down next to him and stared at the TV.

The anchor ran through the sports from start to finish and started on a recent drug bust in a nearby city before Sam actually picked up his sandwich and began to eat. Even then, after just one bite, he spoke. "Where's Dean?"

"Outside working on a Camry," Bobby replied. "You want him?"

Sam shook his head.

There was something else lingering between them though. Bobby knew that this was a long shot, but he asked the question anyway. "Did you want to talk?"

Much to his surprise, Sam nodded. Bobby reached for the remote to turn off the TV, but Sam moved it away from him. _Guess he wants something to stare at while he talks, _Bobby noted. Sam refused to look at him in those few moments, but he did finally part his lips and speak.

"Dad's away on a hunting trip, right?"

"That's right."

"Did you expect him to be gone this long?"

"No," Bobby confessed. "He said he'd be back in a week."

"Why do you think he's gone so long?"

"I'm sure he's not hurt," he said quickly. "Your daddy's the most skilled hunter I know. I think…it's how he's coping with this. It's how he's gonna make himself better."

"I don't get it."

_I don't get how a father could leave his kids either, Sam,_ he thought.

"I don't get…how he finds comfort in it."

Okay, that wasn't where Bobby expected Sam to take this conversation.

"I know that there are monsters out there hurting people all the time," he said, very slowly and deliberately. "And hunters save people from terrible things and death. But I don't think that's why my dad hunts. He's too selfish."

Bobby wanted to protest, to say that Sam shouldn't say things like that about his dad, but he understood that family wasn't always good to each other. And, truth be told, John could be a selfish prick.

"I think he hunts because he likes killing. And I don't see how anyone can enjoy that."

"This is all because of what happened when you were escaping, isn't it?" Sam was surely asking because he grabbed a gun and blew a man's brains out in order to save Dean. He didn't even need Sam's nod to know that that was exactly what he was thinking about. "It's easier to disconnect when it's _us_ vs. _them. _They're evil, and we're good. That's what we tell ourselves, your dad included. It's what we have to say to justify what we do."

"What's the difference between us and them? Us and monsters?"

"Monsters…are complete evil. 100% of the time, they're out to hurt us."

"And 100% of the time, we're out to hurt them," Sam countered. He looked over at Bobby, finally showing the conflicted expression he wore to the seasoned hunter. "Do they actually deserve to be killed?"

"Let's focus on your specific situation, okay, Sam?" The boy could get so philosophical sometimes, and that was okay sometimes, but what he needed was to come to grips with what happened to him. "You're saying that maybe we're monsters, and they're not. After all that, with them kidnapping you and forcing you to fight in a ring with wild animals, do you think they were evil?"

Sam could tell that Bobby was trying to lead him into some sort of trap, but he obviously couldn't deny how horrific all those men were. "…They were evil," he agreed slowly.

"Okay," Bobby nodded. "Then you, who took one evil man out of the world, did something good, right?"

Again, hesitation, then a nod.

"So you shouldn't feel guilt. I'm sure it was a hard thing to do, but you saved your brother and all those other victims from going back in the ring."

"It wasn't hard." Bobby looked away from the news and gaped at Sam as the teen shed a single tear. "Bobby," Sam continued, staring long and hard at the TV. "As soon as I saw that guy collapse and die, I felt...relieved. Happy. What kind of monster am I for being happy that I just ended someone's life?"

"Sam…he was…"

"Evil. I know. But he was still human. I was _glad_ he died. That's wrong. That's…"

He could see where this was going, and he didn't like it one bit. "You think that _you're_ evil, because you were happy to see him die?"

Another tear slid down Sam's cheek. "Sam, no." Bobby lifted his hands and set them on the boy's shoulders, turning him so that they were facing each other. "You listen to me, Sam Winchester," he began. "You are anything but evil. You're a good man, Sam—one of the best I know. You did what you did to save another good man—your brother. And you were relieved to see that your family didn't die. That's what you felt when you watched that man die, boy."

Slowly, light began to return to Sam's eyes. He certainly wasn't accustomed to getting praise from his father, and Dean was just a kid too in a lot of ways. He didn't know what Sam needed all the time. It drove him crazy, but that was the truth.

The front door suddenly opened, and within ten seconds, a grease-covered Dean was standing in the doorway. "Bobby, you got any-" He stopped short when he saw Sam lift his hands and wipe away those tears. "Sam?"

"I'm fine. …Bobby's sandwich had too much mustard."

Both Bobby and Dean felt their jaws drop. Did Sam just…crack a joke?

"Well excuse me, for not making it the same way Dean does, princess," Bobby joked softly, moving one of his hands to ruffle Sam's bushy hair. "What do you need, Dean?"

"Nothin'. I'm done with the Camry."

"I'll come and see what you done. Sam, you wanna bring that pitiful sandwich outside and watch us work?"

"Yeah. Okay."

"Good man." Bobby turned off the TV and walked out a while, leaving Dean standing in the doorway and Sam wiping the last of his tears.

He wasn't sure what happened after that, since he purposefully left to give the two boys some privacy. He checked out the car Dean fixed up and wondered if this was a major breakthrough for Sam. After grieving for so long, it was time to cope with it all and keep moving forward.

Within a few minutes, Sam and Dean were both coming out. Dean had his hand on Sam's shoulder in a way that wasn't so much restricting as it was comforting. The elder brother may have been slightly upset that Sam opened up to someone other than him first, but it came with the territory. If Dean heard any of that talk about Sam being a monster, he would have been totally heartbroken. Bobby could tell by their expressions that Sam didn't reveal everything, but it was enough to give Dean some firm reassurance that Sam was, finally, on the upswing. Not only was his leg nearly perfect now, but he was ready to step into a new day.

"Boy, you missed a screw here next to the engine," Bobby called, waving Dean over.

"Seriously? How'd I…"

"Distracted, I guess," Bobby filled in. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam sit down on the hood of a nearby car and watch them. He leaned over the engine and spoke quietly to Dean. "You okay?"

"I am now that he's better. He'll tell me everything someday."

"Are you mad he came to me first?"

"No. I understand it…he's seen me worry over him so long that he didn't want to make it worse by dumping whatever it is on me. I don't like it, but I get it. I just want him to get better, Bobby. That's all."

"Then let me tell you," Bobby said. "He's better." Dean's shoulders slumped in relief, and Bobby ended the chick flick moment. "Now hurry up and go get that wrench so we can finish this up, idjit."

*…*…*…*…*

As Sam sat on the hood of the old '62 Mustang, he heard Bobby call to Dean and ask him for a specific kind of lug nut and a wrench. Aside from the two of them working on the car, all he heard was the sound of a stray cat going through the area, meowing at the two of them for making too much noise and disturbing its rest.

Such an ordinary life. But outside of the boundaries of this repair yard, both Bobby and Dean had their fair share of kills. And they never felt any sense of regret over any of it.

Sam began to wonder, then, why that was. Why could they kill and feel nothing, while he felt nothing but regret? Did that make him weak, or did that make him human?

And, if regret was what made him human, what did that make Dean and Bobby? And Dad? Monsters?

If killing and feeling glad made them monsters, then he supposed that there was only one conclusion to reach.

_I guess, _he thought ruefully, _we're all monsters sometimes. _

*…*…*…*…*…*

**Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who followed this story! It certainly took a different turn than what I was originally imagining, but I think it turned out good (and if you're reading this far, I'm guessing you agreed :P). Thanks for all the support and reviews. I don't have any more stories on the horizon right now, but keep an eye out. I'm sure I'll write another Supernatural fanfic another time. **

**Signing out, **

**Peanut.**


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